


The Dark Of Light: Manifested Darkness and the Light That Breaks Through It

by MooksMookin, spacegirlkj



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Heavy Angst, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Trauma, Worldbuilding, buckle up guys cuz this is gonna be a long and wild ride, chapter 8 onwards is darker, dark themes, gradually gets worse, like major slow burn, mages au hell yeah, otherwise the tags would be too long lmao, spoiler tags not tagged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:45:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 194,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooksMookin/pseuds/MooksMookin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: Over a thousand years ago, the Dark Mage wrecked havoc upon the world. It wasn't until the White Mage rose up and fought against the Dark Mage that the people had a glimpse of hope. In the final confrontation between the White Mage and the Dark Mage, the Dark Mage used the last of all of his life energy and magic power to cast one final curse: Every 300 years, the Dark Mage would be reborn, as would the White Mage. They would always perish together, and chaos would be born again.After 4 iterations of these rebirths, Hinata and Oikawa are born, their destinies tangled and intertwined.





	1. kin and water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. THIS IS BEING POSTED EARLIER THAN EXPECTED. its ya mook here with mages au. me and kj talked about it and we were like ok we're almost done chapter 2 and its halloween so why not post it on this wonderful holiday??
> 
> anyway, like i said in the tags, this baby is gonna be LONG. we have SO MUCH planned for this its practically a big novel and im SO EXCITED to share it all with you guys. i also want to add that the first few chapters are gonna be set up and worldbuilding before we start gettin really into it so please be patient with us! ive crafted this whole world and how it works basically from scratch and im super excited to show it to everyone! anyway i hope y'all enjoy the fic!!
> 
> —
> 
> HEY GUYS, IM A MESS but its okay because i wrote this with mooks!!!! consider this and everything on a 1 month hiatus while i do nanowrimo, but stay tuned as mooks said this is a huge au with so much planned. forever blessed to be apart of this and write edgy poetry for it, hope u enjoy!!

_Long ago, there lived a mage. Born within the borders of the kingdom Seishun, with immense power in his core, the mage lived a life filled with tragedy, strife, and adversity. Those few close to him knew of his power, and, through jealousy or misfortune, often were played the worst of cards. The mage watched the few he loved— his closest friend, his younger sister, his very own mentor in magic— die at the hands of those consumed with greed, pride, and wrath._

_Left abandoned, watching those he loved die in his arms, the mage was struck with unbearable grief turned rage, and sought revenge on the murderers who had taken the lives of his loved ones. It was only after he washed the blood from his clothes, felt the magic strike down across their necks, that he realized there was no satisfaction in his revenge, no closure when corruption of the world ran so deep._

_The mage turned to the darkest arts this world knows, channeling the Fog with the sorrows, the anger, and the newfound hatred for the people who live lives without suffering. His power only grew, becoming tainted and unimaginably destructive, unthinkably catastrophic to the point where it became all that he was, all that was left for him to rely on._

_Summoning creatures crafted out of souls of the dead and the magic that surrounded him with only the intention of chaos, the mage razed town after town, sent succubi after men and women and harpies after children, crafted monsters known as leviathans to ruin entire cities in minutes. These five leviathans were creatures of incredible power and strength, so much so that no person nor mage nor magical being that walked the land could kill them._

_The mage, shrouded in darkness, maniacal and consumed by the hatred and greed he once despised, became known to the world as the Dark Mage, feared by all, inescapable, evil in every sense of the word._

_But destiny is not something to be handled lightly, for another mage rose, his own power honed and refined, raw, pure energy crackling through his palms. This mage began to kill the Dark Mage’s monsters, tamed two of the leviathans: the docile Skyshark Leviathan and the mystical Deep Leviathan— one banished to the highest heavens and the other to the darkest depths of the ocean._

_This mage became a martyr to the starving people of Seishun, revered for being their only saving grace, treated with the respect of an angel or a god— untouchable, perfect. He was their saviour, a messiah to those living in constant agony due to the Dark Mage’s reign. The people gave him a name— White Mage— for his magic was pure and unadulterated, powerful enough to blind evil and prevent what many called the rapture of their kingdom._

_With the declaration of the king and the pleas of the people fueling him, the White Mage sought out to find the Dark Mage, to stop his blight. Unbeknownst to many, his goal was not to kill, but to change, to find what light, what soul he still harboured inside of him._

_When the two finally met, the White Mage asked, “Why? Why do you do such horrid things? Why do you hate humanity so?”_

_And the Dark Mage replied, “It is because I hate this existence. I hate the life I was born into and those who sought to take this power, to take everything I love from me. I curse the planet I’ve walked on since birth.”_

_But despite his words, harsh, threatening with the purple fire coiling around his wrists, the White Mage smiled and extended his hand. He said, “I am not here to fight, I am here to help you. You don't have to be alone anymore.”_

_The Dark Mage softened, just for a moment, and as fate held its breath, he took the White Mage’s hand in his own, feeling something take shape deep inside of him._

_Alas, that moment passed, and the Dark Mage’s fire shot through the White Mage, his soul corrupted to a point of no return. His heart was unable to be saved, his eyes unable to see the light. And with all of the power harnessed inside of him, the Dark Mage spoke one last time._

_“For every three hundred years that pass, us two shall be reborn. And I will kill you, and havoc and mayhem will run throughout the lands, and no one will forget my name.”_

_Thus, the curse was placed, two souls joining the Fog as fire burnt their mortal bodies, leaving no trace of the mages, no evidence of their existence besides the stories passed down for years to come._

_—_

Torino village is small, but it's home. There's never too much of a breeze, the town’s clearing sheltered by thick brush to every side. Large oak trees surround the village like a barrier, their branches swaying with the weight of the acorns that adorn them. Hinata grew up with these trees, watched them climb towards the sky with every new year that passed.

Today, his job is fetching water from the river, carrying it back to prime the pump to their well. It froze during the long winter that has just broken, and with spring thawing out and breathing green into the surroundings, it’s the perfect time to do so. With the barrel in a cart behind him, Hinata sets off to the village’s edge, making his way through what passes as a square in the center.

It’s a kind village, if not big. There are the farmers from neighbouring towns who bring different foods once a month to sell in the square, families that Hinata has known all his life trading services and goods amongst each other to help out. The winter was a harsh one that left a few homes worse for wear, but now, everyone rejoices in the first warm day of the new year. Hinata smiles to those he passes, waving to the kids who collect stones and try to save the last of the snow that sticks to the ground. His pace picks up as he squeezes between homes, towards the edge of the forest.

The river is before the forest’s true edge, and it’s lucky that it’s so. Hinata has heard stories of what lurks in the darkness, knows that these are trying times where beings sewn from the dark walk among the trees. But even fifty feet away, that all seems like it’s in another world, another reality he’ll never experience. And so Hinata leans down and lets the water flow into his bucket until it’s filled to the brim, uses all of the strength he can muster to heave it out and onto his small wagon he brought to carry it. Careful not to spill the contents, he walks back towards the village, taking the long way around.

The sounds that surround him are comforting ones, ones he knows well. The whispers of trees, the nearby laughter of children and people talking inside of their homes. In the distance, if he _really_ listens, he can hear the sound of hooves on the supply trail headed towards the kingdom’s capital— Senshi. This village is all but a stop along the way, a cluster of people making do with what they’ve had all their lives, living humbly, living without fear or worry.

As Hinata makes his way back to his house, mindful of his speed not to spill the water again, he takes note of the silhouettes in the window of his home. Curious as to who is visiting, he moves closer, leaving the water next to the pump to walk up to the front porch. As he does so, a short girl with blonde hair pokes her head out, a jumble of fabrics piled so high in her arms that she can hardly see over top of it.

“Yachi!” he exclaims. “You didn’t say you’d be visiting!”

Yachi laughs nervously, shifting the cloth pile to look at Hinata a little straighter. “Ah, Lady Kiyoko sent me to pick up some things.”

As she speaks, a deafening _caw_ echoes overhead. The two whip their gaze upwards to the crow perched atop the roof, wings still wide from flight, watching with a stern but friendly gaze. Hinata looks over to Yachi— the crow belongs to Kiyoko, and being her adherent and partner, there’s no reason why it wouldn’t follow her. Still, it’s slightly unsettling for it to materialize out of seemingly nowhere.

“Sorry about her,” Yachi apologizes, worry washing over her face. “Lady Kiyoko says I should become more friendly with her familiar, so I took her along.” As if to reply to the acknowledgment, the crow ruffles her feathers, lifting up her head proudly to display her plume.

“Oh! It’s okay, tell her I say hello!” Hinata assures Yachi with a smile. Yachi nods furiously, relieved that Hinata wasn’t annoyed. With a quick whistle, she and the crow set off from Hinata’s home, trudging their way back towards the small brick house near the outskirts of the village, by the riverside, so close to the forest’s mouth.

His original task forgotten, Hinata scampers inside, dodging his laughing sister as she barrels out of the house and into the streets, his mother only a few steps behind. “Natsu!” she calls. “Remember to stay within the village when you play, okay?”

“Yes, mama!” Natsu calls, her voice trailing off as she skips into the street to meet up with a few other girls milling about by the bare flowerbeds.

Hinata turns to his mother with a bright smile, dusting his hands off onto his pants as he greets his mother. “Were you working on the loom?” he asks, noticing her bare, calloused hands still rubbed red from wool.

His mother nods, leaning against the wall. “Yes, I’m working on a new blanket for Natsu— the one she has on her bed isn’t enough for the winters.”

Hinata laughs. “Mom, it’s not winter anymore, she’s gonna be too hot now.”

“Ah, you know me. Better to be prepared.” She shrugs. “Did you manage to catch Yachi on her way out?”

“Yeah! She brought Lady Kiyoko’s crow with her,” he tells his mom.

She hums softly, hands resting on her hips. “Kind women, both of them. Don’t be too mean to that crow. It’s got magic in it, no doubt.”

Hinata laughs at his mother’s guidance, assuring her he’d do nothing of the sort as he moves towards her sewing room. His mother is a seamstress, and a good one at that, sewing clothes and blankets, weaving and knitting all kinds of things for the people of the village. Lady Kiyoko is a frequent customer, paying in charms or tokens, buying different types of bags and satchels for what Hinata isn’t quite sure.

Lady Kiyoko is a witch, and a kind one at that. Despite her talent in magical arts, she lives in the small village full time, only traveling to the other towns and cities when her services are called upon. As her adherent, Yachi is often the one he and his mother end up seeing on her behalf, but despite her infrequent appearances, they’ve never received anything but well regards from her way.

Hinata's mother sits back down at her loom— a large contraption made of sturdy oak, the wool being woven through strips of fabric dyed wonderful colours, purples and blues and reds. Hinata always admires her work, often spending long hours just watching as she worked, enjoying the ample sunlight that shines through the sewing room window and the songs she sings under her breath. Today that routine is no different— Hinata lies in the sun while his mother works away on Natsu’s blanket, watching as the clouds roll past and the snow slowly melts bit by bit.

“Did you see the merchants when you went to the river?” his mother asks.

“Ooh, yes,” Hinata tells her, remembering the people who had set up shop. “There were a few different ones this time!”

His mother hums, tucking a stray hair away from her face. “We should go and buy some of their books before they leave. Gods know when we’ll get another chance— those traveling merchants are far and few these days.”

That comment sparks curiosity in Hinata, and he turns away from the window, looking back towards his mother. “Far and few?” he asks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s gotten more dangerous out there, it seems,” she sighs. She pauses her work for a moment to look Hinata in the eyes, face softening. “You know how it is, with the Dark Mage’s… creatures lurking. There’s been more sightings of them. Yuuko’s husband— the traveller— says he saw some of them on the path to the kingdom. Did a number on his leg, the poor thing.”

It makes the spring air become a little colder, makes the once calm atmosphere become tense in an instant. The legend of the Dark Mage is one that everyone in Seishun knows, but in the small village of Torino, it never quite felt like something that would affect them. Why should it? A hundred or so people would hardly be the target of bloodthirsty monsters or a mage hellbent on chaos.

His mother sighs again. “Natsu doesn’t understand it yet. She keeps trying to cross the river into the forest. I’m worried…” she trails off, considering her words. “I don’t want to tell her the whole story. I don’t want her to stop seeing this world through her child’s eyes. But I’m afraid if she doesn’t know, then she’ll get hurt.”

“Mom,” Hinata says, walking over to her. “Don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll protect her.”

His mother smiles proudly up at him, placing a hand on his arm. “Shouyou, you’re such a sweet boy. You’ll grow up to be a fine man someday,” she promises. They hold each other’s gazes, silence ringing true through the air. The warmth of her touch feels like home to Hinata, feels like comfort and the same protection he wants Natsu to have. “Now, did you remember to prime that well?”

The moment is broken as Hinata winces, remembering his half-finished chore left abandoned by distraction. “Ummmm, I’ll get it now!” he stammers, shooting upright and offering her one last apologetic smile before dashing out of the room and back outside to where he had left the water.

The barrel of water is the same as he left it, still full and still cool, still in the wagon by the front of his home. Scrunching up his nose, Hinata tugs the wagon back towards the pump behind the house, pushing it over so that the water splashes into the small pool area, running down the drain. He quickly works the pump up and down, the metal screeching in protest until the water reaches it, flowing out slow for a moment before nearly drenching Hinata as it picks back up. The work is a little harder now, with the pressure of the water added, but soon the pump is fully operational, with minimal water splashed onto Hinata’s clothes.

Leaning back, he stares, satisfied with his work. He moves to call out to his mom that the chore was done, but out of the corner of his eye, something stops him, something he could neither make out nor explain.

Hinata turns around, looking around the outcropping of land and the sparse trees near the edge of the forest. In the pit of his stomach, fear bubbles, but so does that same curiosity, that urge to understand and something more that makes him take one step forward, and then another, and another, until clear as day he can make out a figure cloaked in dark blue.

Suddenly, a whirlwind of whispers surrounds him, like mosquitos swarming to blood or moths to a lamp, deafened by the words that he cannot make out. Head pounding, he winces, squeezing his eyes tight as he attempts to swat away whatever could be making the noise. The moment his eyes open, the dark blue cloaked figure is closer, face still undiscernible from the darkness. A single hand rises appears from the cloak sleeve as the figure raises its arm, outstretched towards Hinata as if to beckon him closer.

Against his better judgement, Hinata moves a few metres towards the person, his mother’s worries and his own promise rising prominent in his memory. As if sensing his fear, the figure drops its arm and waits silently, unmoving until Hinata musters the courage to speak.

“Wh-who are you?” he asks. “Are— are you lost? Or with the merchants? I can show you the way—”

Without speaking, the figure silences him, raising its head to stare him down, or so Hinata assumes. He still can’t make out any features, takes a few more steps closer until they’re only feet apart in vain. The hood covers the figures eyes, and over their mouth is a sheer scarf of white fabric. Hinata furrows his brows, confused.

“I… what do you want?” he asks. “Who are—”

In the split second it takes for him to say those words, the figure shoots its arms out, grasping onto Hinata’s shoulders with a grip of cold steel. Immediately, he freezes in terror, watching as it rolls its head forwards, scarf slipping off of its face to reveal lips chapped and red, murmuring to itself. The air leaves Hinata’s lungs in pure fear as he watches, the whispers returning slowly, and then all at once, and disappearing, plunging him into the most eerie silence he’s ever heard. And then, the figure speaks.

_“As winter leaves, new death will rise,_

_In this breathless fog surrounding us._

_From legend old as the morning sky,_

_New venturers will be born in trust._

_In the moments between time and place,_

_Something blinding will be awoken._

_Black fire is what will be that breaks,_

_This darkness is that bespoken._

_Take heed of kin and water,_

_Or death will follow strife._

_In this hour, you shall not falter,_

_Or paired mages shall lose thy lives.”_

The figure’s voice is distorted, scratching and spoken as if the words were not its own. When it silences, its grip on Hinata's arms drops, allowing him to back away, shaking and replaying the message in his head.

“What— who— what did that mean?” Hinata asks, stumbling over his words. His voice cracks, and he takes another few steps back, away from the figure in the dark blue robe.

The figure seems different now, in a way. It rolls out its shoulders and fixes the fabric back around its mouth, making no move to answer Hinata's question. It does, however, speak one last time, in a voice much more human, more smooth and low.

“My apologies for startling you, Hinata Shouyou,” it says. Hinata feels his stomach drop again. “I only wished to relay you that message.” Words escape Hinata as he watches the figure slip a hand into a pocket of its robe, pulling out a small satchel from within. “Take this for your troubles. You will likely need it in your future,” it says, tossing the bag to Hinata. Hinata catches it, feeling the weight of something heavy inside as it jingles.

“I—”

“Do not take this lightly, Hinata Shouyou,” the figure warns. “We will meet again. Until then, I wish you well.”

Hinata sputters a bit more, looking back down at the bag in his hands. When he looks back up, the figure is gone, leaving only a dark forest in front of him, seemingly devoid of any other person, no sign that the figure was ever there.

Now alone, Hinata slumps down to the ground, mind reeling and body exhausted and shivering from a sensation he can't explain. Slowly, he tugs open the noose around the bag, tipping it over in his hand to reveal whatever contents the figure had given him. From the bag, several large, golden coins fall, shimmering and heavy, obviously worth more than any amount Hinata has ever seen. A new wave of confusion washes over him as he stares down at the coins, searching his mind for any reason why the figure would want to speak to _him._

Finally taking a stand, Hinata stuffs the coins back into the bag, tugging the noose closed and slipping it into his pants. He stumbles his way back into his home, massaging his forehead to soothe the pulsing migraine he could feel coming on. Mind and body screaming for rest, he collapses into his bed, making one last move to tuck away the bag under his pillow before allowing himself to succumb to sleep.

—

When Hinata wakes the next morning, it's after a restless sleep, plagued with the figure's message replaying in his head. Despite his hoping, it was never a dream. The gold coins still rest under his pillow, proof that they had met the day before. As he goes through his morning routine, Hinata finds himself unable to forget the warning given to him, unable to shake the phrase calling for death and black fire, unable to erase the image of a town razed from his mind.

He moves as if he were sleepwalking through his morning routine, fetching water from the well, making breakfast for his sister and mother when they wake. All of his actions are those he does daily, but somehow even the simplest movement of cracking eggs over their wood stove seems a world away from what he feels.

Leaving his own breakfast behind, he scrawls a note on a spare piece of parchment, letting his family know he's gone out to the market. Fetching those coins before he leaves, Hinata takes one last look at his silent home before leaving to make his way to the village centre.

Dawn has broken a few hours before, so most of the village’s inhabitants are well awake, opening their shutters and milling about. Many make their way to the market, anxious to see the goods brought in before the vendors take their leave, leading to chatter and bustle that often doesn't occur so early. Hinata hardly minds it, still another world away as he reaches the caravans where different goods are sold, mindlessly scanning them for _something._ Idly, he examines a few pieces of fruit that he isn't sure if he'd like, listening to the hushed whispers of the people around him.

“Did you see her?”

“It's been so long!”

“I wonder how that woman is doing, so kind, you know.”

“And quite beautiful, quite powerful too.”

Hinata looks up, abandoning the vendor to look around the small group of people. Pushing past, he stands off to the side, watching as the object of everyone's whispers leans over a display table of odd shaped stones and trinkets, Yachi at her side.

It's a rarity to see Lady Kiyoko in public, much less shopping. Usually, Yachi is the one to take care of things like errands for her. Today, they're here together, speaking quietly to each other as Kiyoko points at different stones and gems, likely pointing out magical properties and explaining their uses.

Hinata quickly becomes aware that if there is anyone who could make sense of the figure he met and their message, it would be her.

Slowly, Hinata walks closer to them, hesitant to break into their conversation with his own issue. He watches from afar for a moment, waiting until Kiyoko hands a few silver coins to the man in the caravan before coming closer, clearing his throat to make himself known. Kiyoko turns to him, surprised but welcoming, corners of her mouth lifting at the sight of him.

“Hinata Shouyou,” she says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ah! Lady Kiyoko— you see— um, there’s… well yesterday I met— not _met_ really, they kind of grabbed me— but someone… _something_ gave me this really creepy message, and, uh, I thought you might— would be able to help, if you have time,” he stutters, eyes flicking from Yachi to the ground and back up to Kiyoko.

Kiyoko blinks, tilting her head to the side. She stares at Hinata as if to silently judge his nervous demeanour before turning to Yachi, something more serious set into her features.

“Hitoka, please continue ahead,” she tells her, hand sliding down her arm to her hand, giving it a light squeeze. Yachi’s face grows red, and Hinata suddenly feels as if he is intruding. “I’ll catch up in a moment, okay?”

“Ah— okay!” Yachi squeaks, nodding quickly and scurrying off to the next caravan, sending one more smile over her shoulder before leaving Hinata and Kiyoko together.

Kiyoko drops her shoulders, sighing softly. “Come, we should move out of the way before you tell me what happened,” she instructs, leading Hinata back through the little crowd and towards the side of a small home. “Can you remember how they appeared?”

Hinata shakes his head. “N-no, one moment I looked up from priming the well, and something moved and then they were there,” he says. “I… kinda felt like I _had_ to speak to them. So I went closer.”

“And did you see what they looked like? Were they human?” Kiyoko asks.

“Uh, probably? They wore a dark blue robe and had this thin scarf covering their mouth. I never saw any more of their face than that,” Hinata describes. “As soon as I got close enough to see, these whispers took over. And then the person grabbed me and started speaking all hoarse about fire and death and— and water and... kin? They let go and threw me a bag of money— Oh! And when they spoke, they rhymed. Like some kind of kids riddle.”

Puzzlement flashes across Kiyoko’s face, and she purses her lips, silently thinking. “This is… interesting. And you say you felt you had to move closer?”

Hinata nods quickly. “I-is that bad?” he worries, gripping the fabric of his pants.

“No, but it's very curious,” Kiyoko muses. She pauses again looking Hinata up and down. “I will meet you by the river in a few hours. I need to get back to Hitoka, but afterwards, you can tell me more about this. Is that okay?”

Again, Hinata nods, bowing his head. “Thank you so much, Lady Kiyoko.”

“Anytime, Hinata.” She smiles. “I'll see you soon— and let your mother know the dress she sewed is beautiful. She did a marvellous job.”

With that, she and Hinata part ways, her returning to the market with Yachi, Hinata slowly walking back home, more confused than he was before. The prospect of Kiyoko’s guidance is one that makes the situation seem a little less foreboding and a bit more hopeful. Either way, the look of intrigue on her face is one Hinata isn't sure he can decipher, so he settles for eating the leftovers from breakfast, wishes his family good morning, relays Kiyoko’s compliments to his mother, and keeps the entire problem to himself.

Time passes slowly as Hinata waits, busying himself with needless tasks or watching his sister. His mother is working with the loom again, but today, he doesn't watch, instead choosing to slowly make his way to the river to find out what the message could possibly mean.

He's left waiting by the water, alone with his thoughts once again. And as expected, the message the figure had given him replays in his mind, as clear as it was spoken, no meaning revealed or sense made of the words.  _Take heed of kin and water,_ he remembers. The river rushes loud and strong, the once gentle sounds now menacing with that phrase looming overhead. He stares at the swirling water, looking for any kind of answers it could provide. His reflection stares back at him, silent, distorted through the running water. It sends a chill down his spine.

“Hinata?” he hears Kiyoko say. He shoots upright, whipping his head around to spot her standing next to Yachi, a few cloth bags held between them.

“Oh! Hi,” Hinata says, startled by their appearance. Yachi smiles warmly, greeting him with a quick wave.

“Follow us— we'll head back to our house and we can speak more there,” she tells him.

Together, they walk along the river, Yachi doing most of the talking between Hinata and Kiyoko. It brightens Hinata's mood much more than he thought it would, relaxes him as they approach the old brick home at the edge of the forest. When they reach it, Kiyoko holds open the door, allowing Hinata and Yachi to enter first.

Hinata has never been in Kiyoko’s house before. He was never quite sure what to imagine inside a witches abode, but it's surprisingly cozy, with dark wooden floors carpeted with red shag, a small lounge with fancy looking chairs tucked by the window, a cluttered but organized kitchen on the other wall. To the side is a staircase leading to a basement, protected by a hatch, and a few doors leading off to what Hinata assumes would be bedrooms. Something _wonderful_ wafts through the room, smelling of roses and jade, complimenting the sound of running water from the river behind. All in all, quite normal, even with the various charms pinned to walls and bookshelves lined with magical text.

“Come, have a seat,” Kiyoko says, extending her arm towards the couches.

“I can make us some tea!” Yachi exclaims. “We purchased a new set of cups and teas at the market. Would you like some?”

“S-sure!” Hinata says. He feels intimidated by how easy they both fit into this environment— Kiyoko, with her grace and flowing black dress, Yachi, busying herself with the kitchen. Kiyoko turns to ask Yachi something, and Hinata takes the time to inspect the golden bangles adoring her wrists, the rings layered on her slender fingers.

“So,” Kiyoko says, turning to face Hinata. “You said you heard whispers.”

Hinata shudders involuntarily. “It was… geh, so creepy. I got close, and then these voices just… _appeared.”_

“And then they grabbed you?” Kiyoko asks. She’s leaning forwards now, intently listening to Hinata’s every word. Hinata nods. “Can you remember _exactly_ what they told you?”

Hinata laughs a little. “I haven’t been able to forget,” he tells her, nervously scratching his neck. He opens his mouth to relay the message, only to find the words get caught in his throat, unable to speak.

As he struggles, Yachi walks over with a tray and several green tea cups, setting them down on the wooden table. Noticing Hinata’s struggle, she lights up.

“Oh! I have some parchment and a quill, if writing it down is easier for you,” she tells him.

“Thank you, Hitoka,” Kiyoko says with a smile. Yachi turns and scampers over to the bookshelf, grabbing a small piece of parchment and a black feather quill. The message repeats in Hinata’s head, louder and louder, still unable to transform into words he could speak. The migraine that plagued him earlier comes back, and in an attempt to lessen the pain, Hinata squeezes his eyes tight.

He’s jolted back into the real world by a rather loud _caw._ Jumping, his head whirls to face the window where Kiyoko’s crow is now perched, staring him down. Slowly, the migraine leaves him, ebbing away as the crow eyes him up and down, oddly human.

“Here,” Yachi says, handing him the quill and paper. She moves, sitting next to Kiyoko, who outstretches her arm for the crow to fly to. She somehow avoids smacking Hinata with her wings, leaving him in relative peace to write down what the figure had said.

Surprisingly, words come much easier like this, the message translating back into words that he can write and show to Kiyoko and Yachi. He does his best to make his handwriting legible, writing as slow as he can, careful not to smear the ink. When he finishes, he sets it on the table, picking up the cup of tea to warm the chills still racing up his spine. Kiyoko picks up the paper, and takes a few minutes to read the message, lips mouthing the words as she does so. Hinata waits in fearful anticipation of what’s to come, fingers drumming on the cup as he watches her set the paper back down.

“It looks to me as if you met an oracle,” she finally tells him, her voice more intrigued than scared, but worry still evident from how her posture straightens. When Hinata makes little to no reaction, she deduces he doesn’t know what that is, and explains.

“You’ve heard of divination magic, yes? Of the magical art of reading the future?” she asks. When Hinata nods, she continues. “Oracles are the highest form of people who study divination, and are _extremely_ rare. The gift of seeing what is to come is one very few can ever develop, and oracles _excel_ in it. Oracles can’t control what they predict, and an experienced one who is aware of their magic would be able to figure out when and where the one it is meant for would be. What you were given was a prophecy, Hinata, a telling of events to come meant for you and only you.”

Hinata stares, wide eyed and leaning back, in disbelief of what he is hearing. Hinata looks from Kiyoko to Yachi, who looks just as shocked as he is, bites his lip and takes another long sip of tea before speaking. “Do… do you have any idea what it could mean?”

This is where the worry sets in, where the air grows more tense. Kiyoko sighs, looking Hinata in the eye. “I don’t doubt what you wrote is what you heard, but paired mages, black fire, something blinding being awoken… it all makes me think that the problems that consume Seishun are going to reach us soon enough.”

Something in Hinata’s chest sinks, broiling hot and consuming him. He stares down into his tea cup, watching as the tea leaves swirls around at the bottom of the cup. His grip is white knuckled and tense, hands shaking ever so slightly, enough to make the contents ripple inside. Dread curls in his stomach at the figure— the oracle’s— prophecy. He’s a boy from a tiny village in the middle of a forest, so blind to the happenings in the rest of the kingdom. There’s no reason why _he_ should be told this, why a prophecy about kin and water and dark flame is supposed to be his. He bites his lip, hoping the taste of iron will keep him grounded enough to pay attention.

Kiyoko looks at him, taking note of how bothered he is. “Hinata, I can ready a protection spell to keep you safe, if you’d like.”

Hinata lights up, relief washing over him. “Oh gods, thank you so much Lady Kiyoko,” Hinata says, bowing his head. He rummages through his pockets, pulling out the gold coins that the oracle had given him. “I can pay—”

Kiyoko raises up a hand, eyes softening. “Hinata, there is no need. I want to protect the village and everyone in it,” she tells him. “And that includes you.”

The crow caws again, ruffling her feathers. Kiyoko pets her with her other hand, smoothing down her plume. The crow hops off her arm and onto the table, looking up at Hinata expectantly.

“Karako seems to like you,” Yachi comments. Hinata nervously smiles down at the crow, who snaps their beak at him. “Er, somewhat.”

“She’s cautious around people other than me and Hitoka, don’t be worried,” Kiyoko tells him. “Would you like me to cast that protection spell now?”

Hinata nods. “Ah, if it isn’t too much of a trouble,” he says sheepishly.

“Don’t worry, just stay put,” she tells him. “Hitoka, can you grab some cedar?”

Yachi jumps up, walking over to a small pot sitting on the counter. A soothing scent fills the room as she pulls a bundle of leaves from the pot. She closes the lid, and walks back over to Hinata, pressing the leaves in his hands.

“Breathe deeply,” she instructs. “Cedar has protective qualities.”

Hinata takes a deep breath, and Yachi steps away, letting Kiyoko stand in front of him. She motions for him to get up, and he follows through. He’s no stranger to magic charms, but this is the first time he’s ever had a spell cast on him. Despite how eager he is to feel some kind of safety, he can’t help but be on edge.

Kiyoko closes her eyes, the atmosphere in the room changing within a heartbeat. Quietly, she begins to speak, her voice cool and clear while remaining gentle. The words she says are in another tongue entirely, one Hinata couldn’t begin to understand if he tried. As she brings her hands together, Hinata watches the air around him begin to glow, forces himself to remember to breathe as that glow grows stronger and stronger, a soft green aura surrounding him, moving closer and closer to rest on his skin. Kiyoko keeps her eyes shut, extending one arm as if to touch the aura around Hinata before finally opening them. When she does, the room falls silent, and the aura fades away as if it were absorbed into Hinata’s very being.

He leaves shortly after, bidding them both goodbye and thanking Kiyoko profusely. She promises to keep in touch about the matter, and Yachi excitedly lets him know that she’ll be by with a new job for his mom sometime soon. Karako the crow doesn’t wish Hinata goodbye. Hinata makes note to get her some feed the next time he stops by in hopes that she’ll grow on him.

It’s dark as he makes his way back to his home, the village lit up by the people’s fires and the candles in their homes. The merchants have all packed up, the goods either sold out or stored away as they wait out the night to set off back to the city they came from, the night being much too dangerous to travel in. Hinata shivers as he passes, walking a little faster home, avoiding the river the entire time. Even with Kiyoko’s spell protecting him, he can’t help the nagging in his mind of what the oracle's words could possibly mean.

—

Things don’t change, but Hinata becomes more aware without noticing. He finds himself straying further away from the water, finds himself taking caution where he’d usually be careless, listening to when his mother worries with the other parents about the troubles travellers talk about. Nothing happens, no catastrophe shakes the earth or rocks his word, no black flame awakes anything. A few whispers reach them about merchants found dead a few days ride away, but Torino is too small for talk of tragedies. A few days away is the capital city of Senshi, and the two couldn’t have less in common.

So Kiyoko’s protection spell continues to ebb around him, and Hinata visits on the odd days with pumpkin seeds for Karako. As the crow eats away, Kiyoko does things to recharge her spell, expecting no pay but giving Hinata messages to take back to his mother. Yachi often invites him to come along as she gathers ingredients for Kiyoko, and Hinata always accepts her offer.

It’s a good way to get his mind off of things, walking out towards the forest, plucking berries and sorting them in baskets or taking petals and leaves. Yachi takes her job seriously and executes it with love, handling every plant with such tenderness you’d think it were glass. They talk, of course, the both of them running their mouths and laughing as they work away. Yachi is kind, and talking to her makes Hinata forget about the prophecy foretelling whatever event is to come.

One day, Yachi is more reluctant to speak, conversation jagged and lopsided as they collect stones. Hinata knows something is up, but has no idea how to ask, especially when Yachi is so easy to brush off her nerves and talk about something else. It’s when she nearly trips over a tree root that Hinata finally asks _what_ could be the thing making her so anxious, and finds an answer.

“Um, well, Kiyoko was talking about… the Dark Mage earlier,” she whispers, as if scared to say the name out loud. “You know those travellers they said found dead?”

“Yeah, they were near Senshi, probably bandits,” Hinata answers, still unsure why she’s upset.

“T-that’s the thing… Kiyoko got word from the capital's knights— she knows the people there and stuff— and they said that it was one of his monsters, some kind of shadow-thing that killed them,” Yachi stammers. “And— and they say that there’s famine spreading, that those monsters are getting worse.”

Hinata is no stranger to the legend of the mages, is no stranger to the tales in books or was told by the odd elf who came through who could remember the destruction left in the wake. But somehow, he can’t believe this being anything but story, can’t imagine the pure evil in someone’s heart to be so twisted.

“But there’s a White Mage, isn’t there?” Hinata asks. “They’ll keep us all safe.”

Yachi bites her lip. “Wouldn’t we know by now? Word travels fast. And Kiyoko— she’s leaving the village soon to visit Senshi. I’m nervous— all those traders, what if she gets hurt? Or… or worse? She’s the one this village really looks too, the one _I_ look to and I just...” She trails off, hands digging into the fabric of her yellow skirt.

Hinata’s hands feel colder now, a bubbling feeling in his stomach traveling through his bloodstream. The oracle's message replays in his head, swarming his thoughts once more as they stand motionless at the edge of the forest. Hinata looks at Yachi, at the genuine fear that makes her hands shake.

“Yachi… you’re gonna be safe,” he tells her, setting his hands on her shoulders. She breathes into the comfort, her shoulders rolling in, posture dropping as she exhales. “You’ve got all kinds of strength around you,” Hinata continues. “And hey, give yourself some credit! You’re smart, you’ll be okay.”

Yachi looks up at him, taking a shy breath. She's obviously still shaken, but does her best to nod, steadying herself with a half hearted smile. Stretching out her fingers, she releases the tight grip on her skirt, allowing them to fall lax at her sides, and picks up a stone from the ground. It’s quartz, jagged and rough, but it’s exactly what they need.

“Thank you, Hinata,” Yachi says. Her voice may sound small to some, but to Hinata, it’s genuine, and kind, and blooming with the hints of a smile. She drops the quartz into her bag, and Hinata removes his hands from her shoulders, taking a stand and extending an arm to help her up.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you back,” Hinata says, pulling her upright. Yachi nods, shifting the bag’s straps around her shoulders.

They stay silent for a few moments more before turning back towards the village, making their way back towards the beaten path, the clearing, the place they both call home. The sky darkens behind them, clouds knitting together until the blue sky turns grey, but neither look up, only forwards, all doubt temporarily shedded, cast aside from their minds in this moment. Hinata and Yachi don’t think about prophecies as they give their collections to Kiyoko, don’t worry about the Dark Mage as they part ways back to their respective homes. It isn’t until Hinata is alone that night, lying in his bed, that he truly considers Yachi’s words, her worry over Kiyoko’s absence in a few days time. But, he reasons, nothing has ever happened to Torino. She has cast spells and enchantments on him and the homes, has spent time and effort into making this village safe. So with that thought in mind, Hinata slips into restful sleep, a stranger to conflict and none the wiser of the storm brewing in the forest near.

—

Kiyoko leaves in the morning after a night of rain, her things all packed, her staff at her side. Hinata hasn’t seen it up close before— she never had it in her hand when he visited her home, but now, she carries it like an extension of herself. Black wood is twisted long and high, woven like a braid until the top, which forks in two directions to hold an elegantly carved amethyst, purple and almost glowing like the hazy dawn. It stands taller than both her and Hinata, and looks elegant with her gloved hand wrapped around it. Kiyoko finishes tying the satchel to the side of the horse she’s riding to the capital and turns around to face Yachi.

She’s asked Hinata and his family to see her off, and as odd as a request as it seemed, they have no reason not to comply. Hinata’s mother gives her a few things to bring to the capital, and wishes her luck of course, but besides that, Hinata can’t help but feel slightly out of place.

Kiyoko holds Yachi’s hands and rests their foreheads together. She speaks, but her voice is too low for Hinata to make out from a few feet away, her words seemingly for Yachi and Yachi alone. They both smile, and Kiyoko brushes a hand across Yachi’s cheek. Hinata turns away and lets them have their moment, watching as Natsu yawns in a struggle to stay awake.

“Hinata,” Kiyoko says. Hinata looks up to see her turn to him with a look unreadable on her face, eyes steely, but lips soft. “I’m headed to Senshi— I have business to do with a few parties, and I haven’t visited Tanaka Saeko in a while. I hope things go smooth while I’m gone.”

“They will,” Hinata’s mother says, a kind smile pulling at her cheeks. She wraps her arms around both of her children, tugging them closer. “You have no need to worry, Lady Kiyoko. Just give that dress to Saeko and all will be right.”

Kiyoko manages to crack a smile at that, bowing her head. She looks over to Hinata, something more serious clear by how her back straightens, how her hand moves up her staff’s neck. “Your protection spell will only last until tomorrow night. I have charms in your home, of course, but be mindful, okay?”

Hinata nods, doing his best to stand to his full height. “I will!” he tells her. “I promise!”

Kiyoko sighs in response, eyes transforming into something a little gentler. She kneels down and looks Natsu in the eye, using her free hand to grab something out of the pocket of her cloak. Opening her palm, she holds it out for Natsu to inspect with a curious stare. The small object— what could pass for a small wooden knob or sphere— rolls off of her hand and into Natsu’s, and Natsu smiles, eyes wide with excitement.

“It’s a rosewood knot,” Kiyoko tells her. “Rosewood carries imaginative properties for good dreams, and it’s enchanted to ward off any minor magicks. And, if you let it, it can help you face your fears.”

“To ward off the boogie man?” Natsu asks, very interested in the sphere as she rolls it over in her small hands.

“Of course,” Kiyoko tells her. “Will you take care of it?”

“Yes!” Natsu exclaims. She holds it tight in one fist, and plucks a slightly bent flower from the pocket of her overalls, extending her arm in much the same way Kiyoko did. “This is a flower. It’s for good luck, because it’s pink.”

“Thank you very much, I’ll keep this safe as well,” Kiyoko says with a smile. She reaches forwards, and ruffles Natsu’s hair, who giggles as she looks up at her with starry eyes only owned by children who see everything through rose coloured glasses.

As Kiyoko stands, a crow caws overhead. Everyone but her looks up, Kiyoko simply extending an arm for Karako to land on. The crow extends its wings as it swoops down for landing, narrowly missing Hinata’s ear as if she meant to spite him. When she lands, Kiyoko pets her head, staring into her eyes as if she’s deliberating something with herself. She looks to the forest, to the darkness that lurks behind every tree, and looks up at the sky, to the heavens, to the clouds that blanket the village in a soft shelter of near darkness.

“Hitoka,” she says softly, voice low, serious. “I’m going to leave Karako with you.”

“Wha- are you sure?” Yachi exclaims. Karako has no qualms about hopping down onto her shoulder, headbutting Yachi once she lands. “She’s your familiar, shouldn’t you stay together?”

“You know her better than anyone else, and I’ll feel better with her here,” Kiyoko explains. “You can always write to me while I’m away— it should only be a few days.”

Yachi nods, hugging Kiyoko one last time, burying her face into her collarbone and holding her tight. “I’ll see you soon,” she says to Kiyoko. “And I’ll miss you.”

Kiyoko slips out of her hold, slowly turning from her to Hinata and his family. “All of you, be safe,” she says. “I won’t be gone long, and nothing should happen in my absence.”

“Safe travels, Lady Kiyoko,” Hinata’s mother tells her. “You’re always welcome in our home for dinner when you get back.”

Kiyoko nods once more, looking wordlessly at them all before hoisting herself up onto her horse. She looks back over her shoulder, at Natsu waving and Hinata’s smile, and shares one last glance with Yachi before patting the horse on the neck, sending them both on a steady trot down the path that leads them away from the village and towards the biggest city in all of Seishun. As she leaves, Yachi drops her shoulders, sighing. On her shoulder, Karako caws again, headbutting her cheek.

“Yachi, dear, if you need anything to do, I have some work that'll take two people to do,” Hinata's mother says.

“Ah, really?” Yachi asks, her demeanour brightening as she lifts her head. “Thank you, Miss Hinata!”

“I should be thanking you,” Hinata’s mother laughs. “Come on, let's all head back into town before the weather gets any nastier.”

Hinata eagerly complies, running ahead after Natsu, who begins the unspoken race home. She spins around and nearly trips in the grass, never letting go of the rosewood knot that Kiyoko had gifted her. Through her laughing and Hinata’s chasing, she laughs, calls out _I’m gonna get Lady Kiyoko a whole bouquet!_ It lightens everyone’s spirits, keeps the tension from their shoulders as they walk towards the homes. Above them, the sky only darkens, a haze of fog thickening at the edge of the forest. And despite the winds that pick up and nearly throw Natsu off her feet, they push any lingering worries from their minds, heading back to the safety of the village that has protected them for all these years.

—

The bad weather doesn't go away. Grey skies darken to black, eclipsing all sun in inky clouds that obscure most daylight. Two days into Kiyoko’s absence, the rain started. Three after that, it still persists. Most of Torino’s inhabitants have taken to collecting the rainwater instead of using wells or the river— buckets overflow within minutes of being put outdoors, and the river at the edge of town has risen high enough to become worrisome. Inside of his home, Hinata watches the rain fall down from the window, his mother silently spooling yarn as the water hits their roof.

It’s too quiet for a house usually so noisy. There is no idle chatter, no laughter, no clanks and clashes of pots being washed in the kitchen. Hinata doesn’t even hear his sister playing over the sound of the heavy water pounding against the window. Through the storm, nothing else is audible but the rain, unrelenting and constant.

“A hundred year storm, this is,” Hinata’s mother comments. Her voice doesn’t carry the same carefree lilt it does on any other day, too weighed down by _something_ to be light. Hinata pulls his gaze from the scene outside to look at her as she continues spooling. “I hope the lilies don’t drown. We only just planted them.”

“I hope a tree doesn’t fall,” Hinata comments as a particularly strong gust of wind whistles past, the house groaning in protest.

His mother stops spooling the yarn, leaning forwards onto her elbows. “Poor Yachi, all alone in that house during this storm,” she sighs.

“She’s got Karako the crow with her. And if any house will hold up, it’ll be that one,” Hinata tells her. “I don’t think Yachi will be too scared.”

His mother takes his word for it, nodding slowly as she looks back at her work. “I’m surprised Natsu isn’t in here crying. She usually hates storms.” She pauses, letting the sound of rain fill the room. “Natsu! Honey, why don’t you come sit with me and Shouyou?”

The two wait for the sound of a reply, or at the very least Natsu’s footsteps to pad down the hall towards them. The only sound they hear is the rain and a distant rumble of thunder, echoing endlessly throughout the village as lightning flashes, the boom growing louder.

Hinata stands up, peeking through the door frame to see where his sister could be hiding. It’s not uncommon to find her tucked away in a corner while a storm bleeds out, but he can’t help but be a little on edge.

 _Take heed of kin and water,_ Hinata remembers the oracle saying. A chill runs down his spine, and he finds his heartbeat becoming increasingly loud, pounding on his rib cage like the rain on the windows. He turns the corner into his bedroom, checks under the bed, calls Natsu’s name again as he slips into her room only to find it empty. The hampers are empty, no feet poke out from under the kitchen table, and no giggles are stifled when he enters each room. The worry that had sparked earlier quickly grows, Hinata double checking every spot where she’s known to hide before heading back to the sewing room where his mother awaits him, shoulders knitted together, hands gripping onto the newly spun yarn.

“She’s not here,” Hinata tells her. “I can’t find her.”

His mother stands up, face going ghost white as she walks towards Hinata, instinctively wrapping her arms around him. Hinata holds her, listening as the dam of anxieties she must’ve been holding breaks.

“What would she be doing outside— why would she— I don’t— Shouyou what if—” she rambles, pushing him back to look into his eyes. She freezes, as if she’s remembering something, and her shoulders grow tighter.

“Mom? Mom, what is it?” Hinata asks. He’s trying not to act as upset as he is, trying to be some kind of calm for his mom as she licks her lips, gripping onto her shirt.

“Natsu wanted to get flowers,” she whispers. “Shouyou, you don’t think she tried to get them in this weather?”

“Shh, mom,” Hinata says. “I’ll go out and find her— she couldn’t have gone far, right?”

His mom nods, but her eyes don’t seem convinced. “Right— yes. She— she’ll be fine. Take a cloak, I don’t want the both of you getting colds.”

Hinata nods, hugging her one last time. His mother rests her head on his shoulder, and breathes deeply, both standing uncharacteristically still as they wait for the other to pull away. Finally, Hinata does, biting the inside of his cheek as he steps back, grabbing an extra coat as he turns to leave out the front door.

The storm is only louder once Hinata steps outside, hitting him with a sheet of water that soaks his hair the moment he begins walking through the town. The rumble of thunder overhead is deafening, hushes his cries of his sisters name, drowns them out with water and bright flashes that nearly blind him. Hinata stands in the centre of the village, completely alone, shirt soaked through in the few minutes he’s been outside.

He stumbles in his rush as he approaches the neighbours homes, knocking as loudly as he can on the first door he comes across. There’s temporary shelter under the eave of their roof, but he’s only met with a pitiful head shake and a frown when he asks about his sister. Left without resolution, he moves to the next house, and to the next, knocking becoming more frantic and words sputtering from his lips as he tries to explain why he’s out in the storm.

“My sister,” he gasps, trying to catch his breath. “Natsu, she isn’t home, have you seen her?”

He understands he must look desperate, must look like a mess in soaking clothes too big for his small frame, must seem so weak as he shivers and grows more and more shaky with his words. He moves to another house, to the butcher’s store, doesn’t say goodbye once he’s told _again_ that they don’t know his sister’s whereabouts, that they wish him luck, that _oh lord, you’re shivering Hinata, why don’t you come in for a moment?_ Hinata, ever stubborn, doesn’t listen for a second. He braves the storm and the uncharacteristic chill in the air, tries to stand tall and unflinching as lighting forks between the black clouds.

He double checks every bush, under every trough, calls Natsu’s name at the top of his lungs with no care for the onlookers watching from their windows. He slumps against a brick wall, all in an effort to gain some composure, to get some idea of what to do so he can fulfill his promise to his mother. Another shudder rakes down his spine, and as Hinata pulls himself up to continue looking, something happens.

The rain begins to drizzle to a stop, and the entire village stills.

Hinata looks around, looks up to the clouds still black and swirling, down to his hands and across the village square. He holds his breath, and takes a single step forwards, afraid to make a sound in this newfound silence only for it to be punctured by an earsplitting scream.

And the lightning flashes, and the thunder booms, and Hinata is sprinting towards the sound of the scream, of his _sister’s_ scream, name tumbling out of clumsy lips as he squeezes through the spaces between homes, back towards the edge of the forest, towards the river, towards the sound of whimpers and the tiny figure crouched, unmoving on the wet ground.

Natsu’s hands cling onto something, but Hinata doesn’t have time to ask what it is or inspect, too busy rushing forwards towards her, reaching forwards with her name on his tongue only to freeze. Natsu scrambles back, sniffling quietly, gaze fixated on something forming at the bank of the overflowing river.

The river’s banks drain away, leaving in their wake a cemetery of ivory bones that tremor and shake and attract each other like magnets, swirling around something inky black at its centre. Hinata shields his eyes as another bolt of lightning cracks, a groan ripped from the bones as they break and click into place, building before their very eyes a creature with one thousand teeth and talons as long as their torsos, rib cage rattling as the inky darkness swells bigger and bigger, curling around the neck. The creature— _monster_ — opens its mouth, skull reshaping itself to fit the dark fire that flashes into the empty sockets of eyes, into the void of its terrifying mouth. The monster made of bones rears onto its back legs and whips its new head around to face them, and _roars._

“Natsu, get back!” Hinata yells, breaking out of his trance to shelter his sister, only to be a moment too late. The creature swipes one of its talon clad arms towards her, inches from her face, knocking her back.

Hinata cries out his sister’s name, and something inside of him _explodes._

It’s like a volcano erupts inside of him. Light bursts through him, as if all the lightning in the storm above somehow combined into something blinding, ripping through him as the pure energy pours from his everything. The energy saps whatever it needs from his body to grow bigger, and brighter, and more luminescent until it's all anyone can see.

It burns, something hot swelling inside of his stomach. Flames burn underneath his skin as this energy travels, through his limbs, to the very tips of his toes until his entire body is vibrating with this burn and he’s left heaving in the exertion of _whatever this is_ is doing to his body. He trembles in the wake of it all, in the sensation of energy coursing through and out of him in all directions, towards the forest, the town, the river, the monster, and his sister. But as soon as the explosion reaches her, something akin to a barrier forms, forcing the energy to pass over her small body instead of straight through. Hinata has only a second to watch before the light becomes all he can see, vision going white with the brightness of this eruption of sheer force that he expels.

The monster made of bone fights the explosion, but only for a moment. It’s structure catches with the brilliant white fire Hinata throws at it, not meant to stand against the energy of whatever that _is_ that forces the black fog of darkness inside of it to dissipate. The creature roars, but this time it’s strangled as the flame consumes it entirely, ivory coated in something so fantastically bright that it shines through the entire forest foliage, sending streams of light across the town and paths for miles.

When the light flickers and dies, and Hinata comes back to his muddled senses, the only things he can see are his sister’s wide eyes and what was once the monster born from bones turned to ash. It’s all he sees before his eyes fall and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how'd you like it?? sorry to end it on a cliffhanger like that! like kj said unfortunately november means nanowrimo which means we wont be able to write much. BUT!!! we should have chapter 2 done by then SO at the end of november is when we'll probably upload chapter 2!! we're shooting for monthly updates, so make sure to keep your eyes peeled!
> 
> as always, if you have any questions for me or kj or want to yell about fics or ships you can hit us up on tumblr @mooksmookin or @spacegaykj. also i post fic updates periodically on my twitter @mookzymooks if youre interested and want to keep informed!
> 
> see you guys in a month! kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated!


	2. overture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mooks here aND FINALLY CHAPTER 2 IS HERE AND READY!! kj and i have been hyped to post this. theres a shit ton of world building in this chapter. you could think of it as the "tutorial village" if you'd like. we also introduce a few things that i wont give away but im super duper excited for!! im super happy with the world we've created. i hope you guys like it too!

Hinata dreams of a boy, cloaked in the shadows of a tower, all alone. The boy’s eyes glass over, and he falls to the ground, and retches.

He’s thrown up blood before. Hinata doesn’t know why or how he knows that, but that’s what the boy expects now, curled over and in on himself, knees scraping against the rough stone of his empty castle home. Hinata feels what he feels— burning stomach acid leaking into his veins, a migraine settling into his bones. He can’t stand. He doesn’t think he knows how to, mind so wrapped around the gut wrenching pull that leaves him prone.

And the boy aches like all hell, and the boy is dying, and the boy’s feeling his heart rate speed up and he’s feeling himself blush and suddenly he’s happy and he doesn’t understand why, and Hinata feels _all_ of it. He is boiling, he is burning. His limbs shiver— he tries to fight the magic that trickles up at his weakness, but it cracks through in bolts of black darkness.

The boy doesn’t know what he’s created. He doesn’t understand this longing, desperate, painful aching for something he doesn’t know.

In his dormant state, euphoria courses through Hinata, makes every inhale real in this vision of a dream, of a nightmare, makes the scene shoot daggers into him until that euphoria is pain. It rocks him to the core as he watches this boy smile as he cradles his chest, torn black robes hanging over his lithe frame.

And like everything in his life, the boy bears with it, grits his teeth and tries to fight it. It doesn't work, it never works, Hinata realizes. It leaves the boy with a second heartbeat and the wind ripped from his lungs, stolen.

In the distance, a creation of his own doing murders a family. He doesn’t feel that, but Hinata sees it. The boy just thrashes like it’s all a nightmare he could wake up from.

Neither of them wake up, and for Hinata, his vision blurs around the edges, and the darkness of his vision coils into cold winds ripping through him until he is no longer there. The taste of salt materializes on his tongue, alongside lungs sore and weak. Something deafening crashes, waves a thousand feet below colliding with glass shards of rocks, and through the film on his eyes he sees a woman lunge for his neck. He makes no move, feels himself enveloped by the clammy arms of this person and _sighs,_ because he is falling and he is at home with this person against his chest.

And as he hits the rocks, and as the water washes around their bodies, Hinata is transported away, water burning his eyes so that all he can see is a girl, young, small, in a torn dress. She is _floating,_ and pity is so strong that Hinata falls to his knees, succumbs to the force pushing him down against the ground. He speaks, but his voice is hoarse and the language sounds foreign to Hinata, the only coherent word he can make out is _family._

The girl screeches, and Hinata is electrified before he can even look away, and the scene changes again. It’s raining and there is mud caking his wounds, dried blood stuck to his hands. Hinata moves but every step is lead, raising arms of steel and reaching out to a panting figure, one propped against the ruins of a temple, one with darkness swirling ever larger between their palms. Hinata’s chest sinks, and he hears the distant sounds of laughter echoing through his mind, tastes the iron that strains his tongue crimson. In an instant, all pain leaves Hinata, and everything is white in a flash of fire that feels almost cold, the last drops of his essence flowing from his fingertips and towards the figure.

That whiteness fades to black, fades to a hand held in his and a face so gentle it makes the chaos surrounding them seem meek. Hinata takes a deep breath of relief too soon, because the hand in his grips tighter, and the face contorts into viscous laughter and a spoken curse, flame tracking through his veins until there is nothing left but a story and an empty pit in Hinata’s chest.

And then there is nothing, and Hinata wakes.

—

Hinata comes to his senses with a body that feels unlike his own, heavy and weighted, sticky with cooled sweat. He blinks sleep from his eyes as he wakes, hissing at the headache that drums against his temples. It takes a few moments, but he manages to become aware of the scent of burning herbs wafting through his nose. A weight settles deep in his chest, pulling at his sternum as if to tug him forwards. In his dazed mind, he weakly raises his hand to put it on his chest, feeling for a rope or chain attached to it. He feels nothing, but the tugging feeling continues.

A sharp gasp draws his eyes to focus on the woman looming over, clad in deep plum clothes, hair tied back. Kiyoko’s face washes over with relief, and she sets down a small basket of flame and extinguishes it with a wave of her hand. Hinata furrows his brow, confused, mind still swarming with the remnants of his dream. The unfamiliar room around him only fuels his disorientation, headache pounding against his temples.

“Hinata, can you hear me?” Kiyoko asks. Her voice is gentle, flowing like music from her lips.

Hinata’s mouth feels like cotton. He coughs twice before his voice comes back to him in frayed syllables. “Where— what— where am I?” He tries to sit up, but Kiyoko’s hand settles on his shoulder, keeping him against the bed.

“Not so fast, you’re weak,” Kiyoko warns. “You cannot stress your body right now. You’re in my home— the guest room. You’ve been staying here as you recover.”

“Lady Kiyoko? I brought the cold cloth you asked for,” a familiar voice calls. Kiyoko sits back, and Hinata turns his head to spot his mother in the doorway, a dripping towel held in her arms. Upon the sight of each other, she drops it, rushing forwards to kneel at Hinata’s bedside, head resting on his chest. Hinata closes his eyes in comfort as his mother squeezes him, rocking gently back and forth as her hand cradles his head.

“You scared me, Shouyou,” she sniffles, voice muffled against him. “I thought both of you would be lost, and then— and then I thought you wouldn't wake and then—”

Suddenly, everything rushes back to him— the storm, the fear, Natsu soaked in rain and the creature made of bone. He remembers _himself,_  casting some kind of energy, remembers watching the monster turn to ash and his head hitting the ground.

“Natsu—” he chokes, cut off by a cough. He heaves himself up, his mother lifting her head to support him up. “Where’d she—”

“Yachi has her,” Kiyoko informs him. “They’re in the kitchen, cooking.” She smiles, her face almost sad. “You saved her, Hinata. You did a very brave thing.”

Hinata looks away from her and back to his mother, to her sunken eyes swollen red, to her hair pulled back and worry lines set deep by her eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know how I did that,” Hinata whispers, staring down at his hands. His nails have grown longer than he remembers— just how long, he wonders, has he been asleep?

His mother purses her lips, sniffling again. Kiyoko reaches over and rests a hand onto her shoulder, patting it reassuringly. “I can tell you in due time, but you’re still recovering.”

“Recovering from _what?_ ” Hinata snaps. He doesn’t mean to be frustrated, but he still feels as if he’s caught a flu and his hands are shaking and he can’t comprehend why.

“Shouyou,” his mother coos. “Can you walk? I can fetch water and heat a bath, you’re shivering. You can’t do anything more until you’ve washed and eaten— Lady Kiyoko is speaking out of care for your health.”

Hinata bites his lip and nods, though still unsure if his legs can support his weight. He’s thankfully wearing pants, and his mother is more than willing to support him over her shoulder, helping him stumble down the hall and into a small stone room. Breathing is easy despite the ache pulsating in his chest, and his only other focus seems to be the ailment plaguing him. He’s sat on a chair, shivering in the chill of the room as his mother promises to return with hot water. It takes only a few minutes for her to return with steaming buckets on each arm— in the back of his mind, he realizes it more than likely was enchanted with how quickly she returned. The water is poured carefully into a stone tub, and his mother helps him into the bath and leaves him with a kiss on the forehead, promising she’ll only be in the other room.

Hinata sits in the hot water, still. It burns only slightly, just reaching his waist in depth, but manages to remove the shiver from his bones as he begins to lower himself down into the water. Eyes fluttering shut, he lets a shaken breath escape him. Memories plague his mind, casting shadows behind his eyelids of a creature made of bone, fashioned with dark magic and an intent to kill. His sister’s face is the clearest memory of them all, wide eyes immortalized, the look of fear too haunting to ever forget.

Gasping, Hinata pulls himself back up, eyes snapping open as he rips himself away from the scene. His spine curls involuntarily, and he finds himself drawing his knees closer to his aching chest as the adrenaline fades from his limbs. It’s too silent for these kinds of thoughts— all that makes sound in the room are his small pants and the water lapping at the sides of the tub, echoing forever in the absence of sound.

Hinata gently turns his head to the side, blinking to focus on the glowing vials lining the tub’s edge. They’re made from delicate glass, each containing unnamed substances of varying colours. Dull lavenders, bright blues, and deep, earthy greens stare back at him, and Hinata indulges his curiosity in grabbing one of the vials and popping the cap, smelling the contents inside. It’s something floral, and judging by the slow pour of it onto his fingers, a kind of oil he can’t name. Assuming it must be for cleaning, Hinata rubs it over his shoulders, immediately feeling tension leave his body. The oil glows as it sinks into his skin, fading to a glowing sheen in a few seconds. All Hinata can do is stare in wonder, mind finally at ease.

He takes this time alone to inspect his body, noting the lack of bruises or scrapes, no healing wounds or bandages to be seen. His bones are all closer to his skin, sharp edges of his pelvis and ladders of a rib cage climbing his side. Gingerly, he reaches over his shoulder and brushes his fingertips to his spine, feeling the vertebrae— sharp, like his mother’s spindle. He’s lost weight, but not much else is wrong. It’s troubling, and doesn’t explain the heaviness that has yet to fade from his chest.

Eventually, the water turns cold, and Hinata is forced to climb out of the tub and dry off before changing back into the pants from before, creeping out of the bathroom and towards the sound of voices. He’s met with the back of his mother, sister on her knee, and Yachi holding a few folded articles of clothes in her arms. When they spot him, they light up, Yachi sighing in relief and his sister barreling towards him at full speed. Hinata stumbles and nearly falls over as she latches onto him, pressing her face into his side.

“Big brother,” she whimpers, and Hinata feels tears welling up in his eyes. She whips her head up to face him, her own tears staining her cheeks as they fall. “You can’t leave for that long again! Y-you didn’t say anything, and Mama was always sad and—”

“Natsu,” Hinata whispers, arms wrapping around her. “You’re okay, you’re alright. You aren’t hurt, right?”

“Of course I’m not!” she sniffles. “You saved me and then didn’t wake up!”

“Natsu, give your brother space,” Hinata’s mother says. She’s tired, but there's happiness in her tone. “Come sit back down, we can eat the meal Yachi has made us and you can stay up late. How’s that sound?”

As Natsu nods, Hinata looks towards the front window. Dusk sends the last remnants of daylight reaching out across the treeline, casting silhouettes of the trees across the town. There’s not a cloud in the sky now, and even with the transition to night, the sky is a thousand times brighter than he remembers.

“Ah, Hinata?” Yachi says. Hinata looks back towards her, tilting his head in question. “I have some of your clothes— there’s a sweater here, if you’d like.”

He gladly accepts the sweater from her, thanking her as he pulls it on over his head, Natsu stepping away only enough for him to put it on. When he’s done, he hears a door click shut, and sees Kiyoko walk in, Karako the crow perched on her shoulder. The bird turns her head to face Hinata and caws brashly before flying across the room to perch at the chair at the head of the dining table. Hinata’s stomach growls, pangs of very real hunger reminding him that he hasn’t eaten in what seems to have been a long time. He takes no heed in sitting down beside his mother, Natsu perched on his knee, and diving into the soup. The others sit down with him, casting smiles of shared relief as they begin to eat.

Conversation strays from any mention of the incident before, and in truth, Hinata is too busy eating to participate. Yachi is a good cook, but even if she wasn’t, Hinata would still have licked the plate clean, starved for food and grateful to be back— to be alive. Natsu does most of the talking, but as time passes, her chatter slows, sleep catching up to her. As Hinata’s mother cleans up the dishes, Yachi holds her hand and leads her over to the couch to sleep for the time being, wrapping her in a soft blanket and making sure she’s well asleep before returning to the table.

“Now that she’s asleep we can speak freely,” Hinata’s mother says. She’s gripping her glass with white knuckles, some kind of fear still evident in the way her foot taps against the floor in double time, lip caught between her teeth. Hinata takes a deep breath, and finally asks what he’s been wondering all along.

“What… what happened to me?” he asks, voice wavering. “What did I do?”

Both his mother and Yachi turn their heads to Lady Kiyoko, who, despite the solemn air in the room, carries an aura of calmness about her that keeps Hinata from shaking. She sighs softly, considering her words for a moment before meeting Hinata’s eyes.

“You saved your sister from one of the Dark Mage’s monsters,” she tells him, and Hinata’s blood runs cold.

“The Dark Mage,” he repeats slowly. “One of… his… monsters. I defeated it? I— I _killed_ it? I don’t even— I don’t know what I did, Lady Kiyoko. I just wanted my sister— I just wanted Natsu to be alright. I made that promise, I had to keep it.”

Kiyoko’s eyes soften behind her glasses. “When in situations of immense stress or pressure, people unaware of their magical abilities may cause… outbursts. It’s never more than small flames or broken vases, but… Hinata, you are not the ordinary. You’re something much bigger,” she tells him. “You have to understand something— many magic users, whether witches or mages or otherwise, may spend years training and never harness the kind of power you used. This is for a good reason, because that amount of magic nearly killed you.”

Hinata furrows his brow. “If… if I have magic, then why did that happen? Why did I almost _die_ using a power I didn’t know I had?” Frustration bites in his voice, but no more than the fear, and as the words leave his mouth, everyone at the table tenses. Hinata’s stomach knots, and Kiyoko takes a deep breath.

“That’s because you are the White Mage, Hinata. You were born with a kind of power not even I can fully understand,” Kiyoko says. Her voice is gentle, like the breeze, and shows no hint of the fear Hinata feels.

Hinata blinks. He swallows thickly, and licks his lips, looking down at his hands, at his nails too long for his liking. _White Mage_ repeats over and over in his head, flashing images of people he doesn’t recognize but so deeply knows, the same faces from the dreams he had before waking. And even with the confusion and ache swirling through his veins, Hinata feels something lifted off his shoulders at the realization as it clicks into place.

“I’m the White Mage,” he repeats. “I’m the White Mage.” He doesn’t say anything more, the stares of his mother, Yachi, and Kiyoko all boring into his head as he looks up from his hands. “Okay, okay. I’m the White Mage. I almost died, I killed one of the Dark Mage’s monsters. Okay.” He meets Kiyoko’s eyes again, almost apologetically. “Just— give me a second.”

“Take your time,” she assures him. “You’ve been out for a fortnight now.”

“Two weeks?!” Hinata exclaims, instantly brought out of his shock. “You mean to say that— that— that whatever I did knocked me out for that long?”

Beside him, his mother buries her face in her hands, a smile spreading across her face. “That’s what you’re surprised about?”

“I can explain, if you’d like,” Kiyoko offers. “Consider it your first lesson— the magical container.”

“The magical what now?” Hinata asks. He takes another deep breath, reeling back from all that he’s been told.

Everyone at the table laughs at that, and it’s an odd kind of cathartism to witness. Hinata watches as the knots leave his mother’s shoulders, as the tension leaves her jaw. Across the table, Yachi’s nervous posture relaxes with gentle giggles, and Kiyoko cracks an elegant and mysterious smile before whistling.

At her command, Karako flies over to a nearby drawer and uses her foot to open it. She flies back with a pen and paper between her beak, hopping towards Yachi to perch on her chair as Kiyoko sketches a small circle onto the corner paper.

“Magic exists as something called The Fog. It’s all around us, and even in some people. When you are born, you have a magical reservoir, somewhere to channel The Fog, the magic, from,” she says. “Some people have bigger one’s than others, and with training, magic users can grow theirs. This here is what the average magic user’s container looks like.” She points her pencil to the circle she drew. She then flips the page, and draws a second circle that nearly takes up the whole page. “This is your magical container.”

“Oh,” Hinata says. “Huh.” He reaches over, and flips the page back over, looking at the small circle in comparison to his own. “Wait, The Fog? Like the fog that the oracle mentioned?”

Kiyoko nods. “Much more of that prophecy makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Hinata mumbles. He leans back into his seat, biting his lip. “So that… magic? That I gave off? What happened there then?”

Kiyoko sets her pen down. “When a magic user expends too much of their magical container, they grow weak. If you remember stories of the past Mages, many died simply because they used every last ounce of magic they had,” she explains. “You have both never used magic before and were using it to protect someone from a creature made of pure evil. That takes an immense amount of power, and the act was enough to drain you.”

“Karako found you, passed out on the river bank,” Yachi said. “She caused enough of a racket that I went to go see what she had found, and then…”

“Yachi and I tried to wake you up— we didn’t know what had happened, and it took a few days for word to reach Lady Kiyoko and for her to return,” his mother tells him. She grabs his hand and squeezes it tight. “Bless everyone here, truly. If it wasn’t for you, Shouyou, and you both, Yachi, Lady Kiyoko, I don’t… I could have lost both of my children. For that, I am grateful.”

“Hey,” Hinata says, resting his head onto his mother’s shoulder. “I made you a promise. I said I’d protect Natsu, and I did. And— and I will.”

Something brews deep inside of Hinata, something that burns at the sight of his sleeping sister on the couch, so peaceful despite the fate she almost met. Memories flash across his eyes of people he doesn’t know, but feels a pull towards, a deep set urge to protect not only the ones he loves, but the people he hasn’t even met yet, a kind of blooming warmth at the idea of a utopia without hatred, without this needless fear.

“There are people that need my help, and I want to help them,” Hinata says, and the words are so strong he doesn’t know if they are his own.

“Of course you do,” his mother whispers. The sadness in her voice seeps deep into Hinata’s being, makes the reality of his identity set in. The world is bigger than his sister, but at the same time, it isn’t. He looks at her, sleeping soundly on the couch, and smiles, sitting back up with a newfound determination in his bones.

“Lady Kiyoko,” he says, standing up tall. He wobbles, legs still weak, but stays strong. “Please teach me! Show me how to use magic, how to become a mage!”

Kiyoko raises her eyebrows and smiles, _really_ smiles. She bows her head forwards ever so slightly, and looks back up to Hinata with a mirrored look in her eyes. “It would be my honour, Hinata Shouyou. But first, you need rest and a warm bed of your own. Your mother seems more than ready to bring both you and Natsu back where you belong. I’ll be here when you’re ready, but savour these moments with those you love. It’s what makes you strong.”

“Thank you,” Hinata tells her. “For everything.”

“C’mon, Shouyou,” his mother says, extending her arm. “Let’s go home.”

Hinata glances over to his sister again, chest aching but filled with adoration, and nods. The world looms dangerously at the edges of their small town, but for now, it cannot touch them. For now, Hinata takes his time walking home on unsteady legs, his mother carrying his sister and supporting him, and breathes in the love he has never been more thankful for, the stars overhead twinkling with a future unknown for another day.

—

The next few days are spent recovering, sleeping long hours and trying to help out. Hinata is still fatigued by the end of the day, but by the end of the week he’s regained enough strength that Kiyoko figures it time to start his training. Needless to say, Hinata is ecstatic. After being cooped up for so long, the prospect of learning how to use magic, learning how to become a mage, is enough to make him buzz with uncontainable excitement.

Kiyoko leads him through her home, one that Hinata now finds much more familiar than he thought he would. They head down the stairwell, each step creaking under their combined weight, making Hinata feel a little more frightened than he’d care to admit. With one swish of her hand, the lock to the basement door clicks and swings open, leaving a dark room open for them to enter. Kiyoko extends one arm as if to say _you first,_  only much more gracefully and with poise that Hinata could never replicate. Swallowing the knot in his throat, Hinata steps forwards and through the doorway, into the darkness of the room.

The darkness doesn’t last long, however, as torches light as soon as he steps foot inside. A gentle blue light is cast, capturing the shadows of huge, towering bookshelves leaning against cobblestone walls. The thick, musty scent of ancient books wafts through him, makes his shoulders drop as he turns his head to look around. Vials of glowing liquid sit on stone shelves, and flowers and stones lay in purposeful geometric shapes upon altars crafted from fine metals. Hinata stands, in awe of it all, circling the room and inspecting all of the gemstones that shimmer in the walls.

“The first thing you should know is that there is a difference between my abilities as a witch and yours as a mage.”

Hinata jumps, whipping his head over to Kiyoko, who opens a large, leather bound book on the stone-slab table in the centre of the room. He takes a few steps closer in curiosity, head tilted to the side as he tries to read what is on the open page. It’s a mess of words in a script he can’t understand, all etched into the parchment with care and grace. He can’t appreciate the message, but the look of it is nice enough.

“You mean there’s a difference?” Hinata asks.

Kiyoko nods. “Witches are people who study witchcraft as a way to channel their magical abilities. There are pros and cons to it— witches can recite spells to suit their needs with minimal effort, but can’t shape and use magic without a way of casting. The basics are the same, and there’s an overlap between it and other types of magic.”

“Will I get to try some magic soon?” Hinata asks, leaning onto the table.

“Soon, but don’t rush. Even with your natural ability, you’ll be at risk for injuring yourself again,” Kiyoko warns.

Hinata bites his lip at his impatience and tries to get another glance at the book. He drums his fingers and lets out a short sigh, trying to calm his excitement. “Are there really different types of magic?”

She flips the page, and a thin layer of dust floats up into the air, clouding Hinata’s lungs and causing him to cough into his shoulder. “There are many different types of magic. You have pure, unadulterated magic, tapped directly from the source, while the Dark Mage will tap his through all things unthinkable and evil, through the most twisted ways possible.” She stops for a moment, looking up from the book to look Hinata dead in the eye. “Dark magic, necromancy— they’re not to be taken lightly. Especially in the case of the Dark Mage.”

Hinata gulps, his coughing fit disappearing instantly.

“But we can worry about that later. You need to understand the basics before that,” Kiyoko says. “There’s enchantment, which I specialize in, as well as protection, elemental magic, healing magic, and so on. Most magic users choose one or two types and hone them, but many will dabble around in all of them.” She furrows her brow for a half second, and reopens the book and scrolls through the text. “For the sake of your health, it’ll be best to start with a magic type other than the pure magic. You won’t be able to control that yet, and I don’t want you to drain too much of your energy.”

“So I get to try magic now?” Hinata exclaims, jolting up. “I get to light fires and thunderbolts and— and—”

“A strong foundation is needed for a good house— and magic is no different,” Kiyoko reminds him with a smile. “If you perfect these simple things, the rest will come easy. You have the raw ability for it, so the trick is in making sure your technique is on the same level, yes?”

Hinata’s eyes widen, chest swelling as he nods. “So, will you show me some magic?” he asks again, leaning forwards with a bright smile.

Kiyoko spends another moment scanning the book before smiling, nodding her head curtly and gently closing it shut. Another cloud of dust falls onto Hinata, but not even the coughing could damper his spirits as Kiyoko walks around to face him, long, billowing sleeves resting around her elbows as she raises her hands.

“Small fires are simple to start— all elements come easy,” she says. With a deft snap of her fingers, a flame lights in her palm, swirling a brilliant shade of scarlet, crackling and illuminating the dampness with orange light. Hinata watches with awe, mimicking her motion only to find no success.

“Think of lighting the Fog around you,” Kiyoko tells him. “All magic comes from The Fog— remembering this will help.”

Hinata bites his tongue, snapping his fingers again, picturing the invisible Fog like oil between his fingers. The first few times only produce sparks, but the fourth produces a bright, white flame. The shock of it nearly makes Hinata yelp, but he stays focused, turning over his hand to inspect the unnaturally bright colour.

With his free hand, Hinata hovers it over top of the flame, feeling the white hot fire lick his hand without any trace of pain. He giggles— it seems so simple, but at the same time, so otherworldly. It’s as he raises his hand away that the flame truly takes shape, growing and growing until it's a small bundle held in both hands.

“Amazing,” Kiyoko whispers. “You— even a simple flame is produced through your pure magic. How do you feel?”

Hinata looks up from the flame, and grins. _“Awesome.”_

From there, Kiyoko walks him through other elemental weildings— wind being the simplest to produce but hardest to control, water being hard all around to conjure. From what Hinata gathers, most mages are elemental, as the forces can be so simply manipulated for one's needs. As he sends another gust of wind through the pages of a book, he spots Kiyoko watching out of the corner of her eye, invested in the large book once more. There are questions sitting on the cusp of Hinata’s lips— what tongue is it, what does it say? Kiyoko does not read as much as she speaks, muttering under her breath as the pages turn with a swish of her fingers.

Distracted, Hinata’s gust of wind gets a little too strong, and knocks a book off of a shelf, sending it onto the floor. Hinata jumps at the clatter, but Kiyoko only raises her head in acknowledgment and raises a brow.  

“If you want, you can head home and practice by yourself for a bit,” she suggests. “Without worrying about breaking anything. Elemental spells are sometimes best done outdoors.”

Hinata sheepishly rubs the back of his head as he leans down, picking the book off of the floor. “Ah, yes,” he mumbles, laughing weakly. “Thank you, Lady Kiyoko!”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Can I come back tomorrow?” Hinata asks. “Will you teach me more?”

Kiyoko smiles and walks past him. She reaches above his head and runs her fingertips along the spines of books on her shelves, stopping when she reaches a box filled with various scrolls. She hands the box to Hinata, wiping dust off onto her skirt as she does so.

“Of course you can, but read some of these if you have the time,” she tells him. “It won’t hurt.”

Hinata’s eyes widen as he gingerly touches the scrolls, as if the faintest brush of fingers will be enough to turn it to sand. Thanking Kiyoko profusely, he takes the bundle of scrolls with him as he heads back to his own house, soaking up the sun’s rays after being inside for so long.

The village seems different now, after all that’s happened. He is no longer Hinata Shouyou, son of the seamstress and the boy with the bright smile. Now he’s known as the White Mage, as the boy who killed bones held together by darkness and spun with necromancy, a soul older than his body with a destiny bigger than their little town. People still smile when they see him, still greet him with the same cheer, but there is a new kind of hesitance to their actions, some sort of adoration, awe, pride that is almost pity that stirs in their eyes. Hinata’s sister is long since recovered, and so is he, but he can’t help but wonder if the sadness in their eyes extends to something more.

Those are the rare cases, of course. For the most part, Hinata is placed atop a star-studded pedestal, is on the receiving end of praise and thanks for killing what could’ve killed them. The townspeople were smart enough to put two and two together in the two weeks Hinata spent in a comatose state. They all could see the legend rewriting itself in this nook of the country, in this forest clearing. It’s unexpected, of course, but not shameful. Hinata sometimes thinks he’s being lifted up onto the backs of the villagers who raised him, carried with the support and kind words they never fail to send his way.

With his power how it is, there isn’t much Hinata can do yet. Magic brims in his bones and rises eager to his fingertips when summoned, but it’s a power he’s yet to learned to control without hurting himself in the process. Hinata remembers Kiyoko’s warning in the back of his head, but never feels any tiredness from magic besides the deep set ache that has never left since his awakening. That ache is a reminder of sorts, he assumes. A callback to the moment that left him terrified and vulnerable, and the moment where he saved someone he loved.

Hinata sighs and leans onto the trunk of a tall oak tree. There is so much yet to do, and so much left to learn. With scrolls in his arms and determination in his heart, he heads back into his home, back to his sister and mother— the two people he knows will always be there.

—

_The amount of magical energy a mage or witch can use is defined by their magical resource (other times referred to as magical capacity, container, etc.) In the average case, a mage will find performing small, well known and practiced acts, such as lighting a flame for an elemental will be very easy, whilst creating a tornado of fire may drain even an experienced user for an extended period of time. Completely draining one’s magical resource, while rare, can have consequences. The average mage, after performing an act like described above, may feel tired, hungry, or dehydrated, suffer temporary bruising or aching muscles. Due to the magical resource’s tie to a mage’s life source— their energy to live— the risk of using all of one’s magic resource is death._

_In the average mage’s case, this is very rare, as under normal circumstances not many would be motivated to go to that point of no return. The most famous instance where mages drained their entire life force and magical resource are the pair of Twin Mages. This is likely because of the sheer force, magnitude, and destruction these events caused. However, the Twin Mages are far from the average, and should only be seen as a warning or example of the extreme force of raw magical power._

“Shouyou!” Natsu yells. “Stop reading your picture book!”

Hinata jolts from his seat by the windowsill in their mother’s sewing room, nearly tearing the parchment in his hands. The faded yellow paper simply falls onto his lap and leaves him with a paper cut on his thumb as his sister bounds up to him, hands on hips, staring him down with furrowed brows and pouted lips.

“It’s not a picture book!” Hinata tells her. His tone is a little defensive— it skips an octave as he cradles his thumb into the palm of his hand to keep blood from dripping onto the scroll. He’s yet to see a date anywhere in the text, but judging by the faded ink and torn edges, it isn’t new by any means. Just _thinking_ about damaging something this old, not to mention something of _Lady Kiyoko’s,_  sends a shiver down his spine.

Unfortunately, Natsu does not hold old paper to such high prestige. She nimbly hoists herself up to sit beside Hinata, leaning onto his side. She’s light, but the force is enough for him to almost lose his balance and fall out of the window of their single story home. After a few moments of wiggling into a position where Hinata can focus and Natsu can be satisfied watching, Hinata goes back to the contents of the scroll, with his younger sister perched in his lap reading along with him.

_The magic capacity, magical resource, or magical container is not limited to living things. Small objects such as rings can be enchanted with minor charms, whereas weapons such as swords can be made to aid the wielder or impede their victims. The magical art of enchantment is one that—_

“What’s that say?” Natsu asks, pointing to the fading character repeated throughout the text.

“Mage,” Hinata tells her, returning to his reading.

_The magical art of enchantment is one that proves a useful skill for many, even if it seems weak when compared to other forms. Many of the strongest magic users, while not all specializing in enchantment, are versed enough to create items and help others to the best of—_

“What’s a mage?”

Hinata inhales sharply, and rolls up the scroll, instantly giving up on trying to read anymore at the given moment. “A mage is someone who can use magic,” Hinata tells her.

“So you’re a mage?” she asks, turning around to face him. Hinata nods, smiling as her smile expands. “A really cool one, right? A good one, like the White Mage in those stories?” She kicks her legs, leaning back. _“Everyone_ is talking about the White Mage now, even mom.”

“Natsu…” Hinata says, voice trailing off. Her excitement shines through every freckle, through the sheen of her eye. Hinata’s identity as the White Mage isn’t a secret, but it isn’t something easy for a child to understand, either. Sighing, Hinata ruffles his sister’s hair, pulling her closer. “I’m gonna protect you, alright? Just like I did from those monsters. Just like the White Mage.”

“Mhm, and you’ll use magic to get the cookies off of the top shelf?” Natsu asks, voice edging on eager.

The tension breaks, and Hinata allows himself to giggle, lifting Natsu up and off of him as he swings down from the windowsill. As she shrieks in laughter, all worries about magical containers and magic so powerful it could kill are pushed to the back of Hinata’s mind, sidelined in favour of trying to use what he’s learnt to impress his sister without breaking his mother’s china. Because everything in his world boils down to these moments, to this small town, to these people he’s known most his life. It’s hard to imagine having to ever leave, and even with the world waving all around him, Hinata doesn’t feel yet a part of it. He knows there’ll be a time where he’ll have to explain to Natsu who he really is, and what he really has to do, but now isn’t that time. For now, he waits, idle, peaceful, using newfound magic to levitate cookies down to his sister who shouts with glee. When their mother finds out, she can’t even bring herself to be mad.

—

The next few weeks are not restful. Kiyoko means it when she says she wants to train him, and takes the job seriously. Hinata moves on from simple elemental magic to conjuring ice and better controlling different flames, creating fires without burning himself, regulating power and channeling stronger and stronger magic. He’s taught how to cast small illusionary charms, figures out on his own that magic can interact with plants, and enchants two bracelets with a minor protection spell Kiyoko had taught him. He gives one to his mother and the other to Natsu, both girls equally excited about the tiny token.

That brings Hinata here, creating tiny shock waves between his hands. Kiyoko has brought the lesson outdoors today, a ways away from the town, closer to the river than Hinata would like but far enough away that neither would risk falling in. The babble of the water licking rocks sings in the background as Karako swoops down to perch on a nearby tree above Kiyoko, the two watching as Hinata makes the spark brighter and denser as if a star were contained between his palms. In a second, it dissipates, his attention drawn to Kiyoko as she taps her staff against the ground.

“Hinata,” she tells him. “I want you to hit me.”

“Geh?!” Hinata says, tripping over his own feet in shock. “You want me to _what?”_

The corner of Kiyoko’s mouth twitches upwards. “Try and knock me onto my back.” She makes no move to back down, her gaze unchanging and challenging as Hinata worries.

“It’s just— what if I accidentally use my full power?” Hinata stammers. “I don’t want to attack you!”

“Hinata, I will be fine,” she tells him. “You seem to learn better through action and doing, rather than instruction and lecturing. Now, lets see what you can do.”

Taking a deep breath, Hinata summons the same ball of electricity he was playing with earlier, letting it grow more and more dense between his palms. The second he aims it towards Kiyoko, he feels his stomach drop, something inside of his gut telling him he has already made a grave mistake. In a split second, Kiyoko shouts a single word, her staff glowing from the inside, and sends a punch through Hinata’s gut, causing the energy to flicker and die out. Before he can try again, she takes another step forward, murmuring gently under her breath, hand filling with some kind of smoke that only needs a moment to solidify and strike, pushing Hinata flat onto his back and knocking the wind from his lungs.

As he wheezes, Kiyoko moves to stand above him, cocking her head to the side. “You never lead in a head to head battle with a slow attack. Having the first move is key, and your opponent, slow or not, will do whatever they can to get it.” Hinata blinks, focusing on the hand she extends him. “Again?” Hinata grins, nodding eagerly despite losing so quickly, and bounces back up onto his feet.

The second match starts in an instant, Hinata summoning all the force he can muster to push a strong burst of wind forwards. He’s pushed back by the recoil, and has to fight through the bluster to watch Kiyoko’s reaction, only to see her lean out of the way. With the grace of a bird in flight, she surges forwards, lifting her staff to smack Hinata in the side, calling on another spell to force him backwards. He hits the ground with that same staff pressed firmly on his chest, Kiyoko once again looming above.

“You are at a disadvantage if you only rely on your magical abilities,” she says. “My staff helps in close combat, while strengthening my spells.” Pulling him off the ground, she dusts off her skirt despite barely touching the ground. “Note that I’m a witch— I’m calling on spells to fight whereas you’re shaping the Fog and magic for your own purposes. Creativity can help you out.”

The third match doesn’t start right away. The two dance around each other for a few moments, Hinata mulling Kiyoko’s words over in his mind. _You’re shaping the Fog and magic for your own purposes._

Suddenly, Kiyoko speaks, the magical tongue slipping from her lips as she points her staff at Hinata, some sort of blue energy shooting from the gemstone fixed at the top. This time, instead of trying to attack, Hinata braces himself, and pictures that energy ball expanding outwards around him. A bubble of sorts soon forms, hazy in nature but strong enough that Kiyoko’s attack bounces clear off of it, ricocheting back towards her.

“Good,” she calls out, and Hinata tries to smile through his focus. “But you should be paying better attention to your surroundings.”

A rumble comes from the ground, and soon the earth at Hinata’s feet has warped and distorted, flinging him face first into the soil, his shield long since dissipating.

“That was a brilliant idea, but protective magic is a hard field. Remember to block from all sides, and remember some shields, like the one you just made, are nothing to actual soldiers or animals— they merely reflect spells.”

From then on, Hinata stays on the defensive, crafting his magical barriers in different forms, trying to see what could possibly work. Shooting through them proves to be a challenge, especially when his goal is to knock Kiyoko down. Still, each time he ends up with his back in the grass, determination still burning in his eyes as he repeats one word.

_Again._

The rest of the training is relentless. Hinata picks up on Kiyoko’s mannerisms, his movement and reaction time increasing with each match. Hinata’s a quick learner, and soon his attacks actually manage to barely land a hit on Kiyoko. It’s not enough to stop her, though, and Kiyoko still manages to win. The matches grow increasingly closer as the colors in the sky begin to change from hues of blues to oranges and reds.   

What makes Kiyoko dangerous, Hinata learns, is her resourcefulness. She turns Hinata’s own magic against him, plays to his strengths only to quickly exploit his weakness. At one point, Hinata _finally_ manages to get on the offensive, pushing Kiyoko back with short bursts of fire. Just as Hinata is about to push her down, she looks him dead and smiles.

“Karako!” she shouts. Hinata has a heartbeat to react before Karako the crow has swooped down, screeching. She beats her wings hard enough to force Hinata to stumble, and once he does, he already knows he’s beat. Kiyoko sends out another spell, and Hinata is on his back.

“We should stop here for today,” Kiyoko says as she rolls out her shoulder. Karako perches atop her staff and looks down at where Hinata lays. He’s out of breath but can still feel the crackling of magic on his fingertips, ready to be used, far from being depleted. He quickly sits up, a word of protest on the tip of his tongue, still unsatisfied, still wanting to learn and do more. He’s cut off as Yachi approaches from the house, holding a long wrapped package in her arms. At the sight of her partner, Kiyoko’s posture changes— her eyes brighten, shoulders drop, skin glowing as if to radiate love and appreciation for the small blonde girl who smiles nervously and shuffles forwards.

“Ah, Kiyoko? You have a package from Senshi,” she says. “The messenger arrived unharmed. He’s going to stay for a few days, though. No one is eager to get back on that road.”

Kiyoko makes her way over to Yachi, bending over to kiss her forehead. “Thank you Hitoka. This must be what I asked Saeko to make,” she says as Yachi’s face grows progressively more and more red. “Hinata, come here, this is for you.”

“Huh?” he says, springing off of the ground. His thighs burn a little bit, but there’s more than enough drive in him to run over and examine the package. “What is it?”

Kiyoko motions for him to open it, and so Hinata does. The object is wrapped in fine silk cloth, white and of high quality, the exact kind he knows his mother would love. With gentle hands, he unveils what’s wrapped inside, not expecting it be a wooden staff. The craftsmanship is unique, warm wood smoothed and lacquered, curled at the top to create a spiral. It feels warm in his hands, almost _alive,_  a steady weight balanced between his two palms.

“I had this made for you, since every magic user needs a staff or wand. I’ve yet to enchant it, but…” She looks at Hinata’s face of wonder, and smiles. “It seems you’ve already found some magic in it.”

Hinata blinks, eyes drawn back to the staff. It doesn’t _feel_ awkward in his hands, instead feels like an extension of his own self, a comforting weight in his hand, an object so alive Hinata almost thinks it's breathing.

“I… I love it, Lady Kiyoko, I don’t know what to say,” Hinata tells her, grin spreading across his cheeks. _“Thank you,_  oh my gods, thank you so much!”

“Oh!” Yachi pipes up, suddenly remembering something. “Hinata, your mom invited us to dinner. I saw her on my way here, she was almost done. Maybe, um, we could make our way over?”

With a smile, Hinata nods, holding his staff closer to his chest. Even after being beat time after time, he _knows_ he’s improved, knows the magic he’s using is a kind it takes years for some people to control. Under Kiyoko’s guidance, he’s flourishing. He wants to get better, and more than anything, he wants to protect those he cares about. Now, he’s getting the tools to do it. Now, he’s making a name for himself.

—

But sometimes, it isn’t easy.

Hinata dreams of things he doesn’t want to dream about, is haunted by experiences he’s never had and people he doesn’t know, but remembers, deep inside of his bones. Sometimes, it's a child with hollow eyes or a man coated in darkness. But most times, it’s just a boy with ash brown hair tousled with the wind, sitting alone. His back is always to Hinata, and he’s always just out of reach.

Tonight he dreams of Natsu, and these are the worst kinds of dreams, because they come with the heart wrenching pain of _knowing_ this is real. He dreams of that monster, of the living bones, of his own body dying to save his sister, of being too late— all of it comes in flashes that have him writhing in his sheets, shocking him awake with breaths ripped from his lungs. It’s still dark, still late, and even in the late spring weather, Hinata shivers.

He can’t sleep now, he knows it. Lighting a small white flame in his hand, he pulls himself from bed, limbs still shaking, adrenaline still pumping under his skin. He pulls on a sweater and loose pants, does up his shoes, and tiptoes his way out of his house.

The town is quiet now, in the small hours of the night. No one speaks, and above, only the bats and birds of prey fly. Hinata feels comforted, knowing that despite being alone, he isn’t lonely. It comforts him in spite of the lingering emotions of his nightmare that threaten to swallow him whole. Hinata rubs his eyes and continues on his way towards the edge of the forest and the riverbank.

The ground is cold underneath him. Hinata feels it as he sits down, feels the grass coated with dew between his fingertips as he closes his eyes. The sounds of the river are louder now, the babble of water over stones, the dull drone of cicadas and crickets background noise to all the thoughts in his head. This is where he and his sister almost died. This is the resting point of a creature fashioned in pure darkness and hate.

The thought doesn’t provide any satisfaction to Hinata. It hurts either way, haunts in the darkness on the back of his eyes. His entire body aches with something he can’t name, and that alone infuriates him, makes his sleep deprived body fill with an ugly amalgamation of frustration and exhaustion. It rocks him to the core, this long lived sensation, these nightmares, this exhaustion.

 _Maybe I’m just being emotional,_ Hinata thinks. _Maybe this isn’t all that bad, and I’m just over tired from all the training Kiyoko put me through._

It’s a lie he can believe only enough to make his shoulders drop, only enough that when he leans back, he can close his eyes without flinching at the images that await him. The ground is wet and cold and the air is heavy and hot, crushing his ribs in an all too familiar way. Hinata raises one hand to trace the constellations, channels his magic into small wisps of glimmering smoke that swirl around his wrists and float up towards the heavens, towards the crescent moon that is only a sliver of light in the sky.

Hinata is the White Mage. There is glory surrounding the title, a kind of awe inspiring lore that makes him glow from the inside in pride. But Hinata knows the legends, knows the fate that awaits him at the end of the line. Hinata is the White Mage and somewhere, there is a boy, the same one that appears in his dreams, who calls himself the Dark Mage. They are entwined in a way only they will understand, in a way Hinata isn’t sure he can comprehend just yet. He doesn’t want to think about how he may meet his end, or the future beyond the next day. He’s just a person, after all, another boy with a family in a small town thrusted into this world against his will. What path was chosen for him he will follow, he assumes, but Hinata is not the type to just trail along blind. With a swipe of his hand, Hinata makes the smoke disappear into thin air, makes the entire forest seem a little bit quieter, as if watching, waiting, spying to see what he might do.

Hinata stands. He wipes off his palms, rubs his eyes from the sleep that has been festering there, and walks his aching body away from the river and back to his home, to his warm bed, to his family where he knows he is safe. For now, that is enough. For now, his home is all of the world he knows.

—

The training gets harder as the weeks go on. Sparring is far from uncommon now, Kiyoko and Hinata trading blows in the form of magical fires and energy, encasing the other in illusions and swirling columns of smoke that attract most of the townspeople’s curiosity. By now, they’re no strangers to being watched, and although Hinata doesn’t mind, he can see the way Kiyoko’s demeanor changes from when they are alone. Her soft edges sharpen, her warm smiles fade away. For the most part, they try to keep their privacy, if not for their own comfort, but for the safety of others.

Hinata’s control over his own power is still a mystery. Some days, he feels as if he’s holding back, as if he _should_ be bent over panting by the end of the day. The ever present buzz of energy under his skin is a gun fully loaded, trigger set and ready to be pulled, almost _begging_ to be used. It’s not uncomfortable, but it makes him a little restless at times, makes the borders of the town feel as if they were closing in.

Whether or not Kiyoko notices this, Hinata can’t be sure. Today, they’re back in the cellar, where she opens the same book he saw the first day they started training. That alone muffles his jumpy attitude with curiosity. The text is as unlegible to him as ever, chicken scratch across old, thin pages. After flipping through a few of the tabbed pages, Kiyoko stops, moving her glasses off her face to rub her eyes. Her smooth skin is tinted with purple under her eyes, her glossy hair pulled back into a messy knot at the back of her neck. Her grace and elegance are still evident in the careful movement of her hands, but so is the exhaustion in the sag of her shoulders and the droop of her eyes. Hinata can sympathize— she’s still the one the town looks to, _turns_ to.

“What I’m about to tell you,” Kiyoko starts, not looking up from the book. “It… it won’t be easy to hear. For you, especially.” Hinata holds his tongue, saves the questions behind his teeth and watches as Kiyoko’s eyes flick across the page. “I acquired this book from an elf a few years ago. I’m not sure he knew the significance of it. Or, if he knew, I doubt he cared. It’s in old elvish, which my mother taught me once I came into possession of this.

“This text is known as The Book Of Monsters, and contains the original copy of The Book Of Leviathans,” Kiyoko tells him. “The first text, The Book Of Leviathans, was written at the time of the original paired mages. Then, it was extended to describe of every monster the Dark Mage created. As the text turns into The Book Of Monsters, it follows each proceeding pair and the monsters created. At the time of my purchase, it only had two or three monsters made by the current Dark Mage. I’ve been updating it in its original tongue whenever I can.”

“M-monsters. Right.” Hinata purses his lips, remembering darkness and rain and ivory bones held together by darkness and black fire. “What’s the difference between, um, a Leviathan and a monster?”

“Everything,” Kiyoko says, voice darkening. Hinata gulps. “Leviathans… they’re bigger than you could ever imagine. Not only in size, but in sheer _power_ and force.” She traces some of the script on the page with her fingers, pointing to a heading. “There are five, all creations of the Dark Mage.” Carefully, she flips the page, revealing several intricate sketches of creatures, each nearly spanning the entire page. “The Skyshark, a massive beast tamed by the White Mage and banished to the sky; the Sea Serpent, a crafty beast hell bent on destruction; the Death Worm, an enormous worm with thousands of teeth who lives under the sand; the Mountain Hermit, which uses one of the bordering mountains as its home; and the Deep Leviathan. Not much is known about the Deep Leviathan except that it lurks in the deepest trenches of the ocean, and despite being tamed by the White Mage, still possesses power unknown to even he.”

The room becomes small, becomes silent, becomes the very shiver that trickles down Hinata’s spine and the ringing that crawls through his ears. He stares at the drawings, not needing to read the text that surrounds them to know it must say _beast,_ must say _unkillable evil._

“I… I’m gonna have to fight those? To kill those?” Hinata wonders aloud, gripping onto the edge of the table.

“It isn’t my place to say,” Kiyoko sighs. “The Skyshark and the Deep Leviathans are docile to mortals. You won’t have to worry about them, at least. As for the others…” Her voice trails off, and she flips through a few other pages. “It’s recorded that not every White Mage faced with the Leviathans. Surely, no White Mage has ever _killed_ one, but we know they can be tamed.” She looks at Hinata, her tired eyes softening. “Focus on the other monsters— succubi, tainted wisps, anglers, flickers— you’re much more likely to meet these creatures on your journey.”

Hinata takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. Without training, he _killed_ a monster, and survived even if just by the skin of his teeth. The burn inside of him echoes _you are not helpless, you can fight,_ and chokes out the tremors of fear that threaten to overtake his body at a moments notice.

“So tell me, then,” Hinata says, voice only wavering if you were to look for it. “Lady Kiyoko, what are they?”

“The ones named are only a few,” Kiyoko says. “Succubi are demons that hypnotize and attract people so that they can murder them to continue living. Tainted wisps are just forest spirits corrupted; anglers use a childlike illusion to trick and consume travellers; flickers twist your mind to the point of insanity.” She looks Hinata dead in the eye, and somehow that one stare demands Hinata’s shoulders to unconsciously straighten, his chin to lift. “No one ever said the path fate chose for you would be easy. You will meet peril, witness tragedy, of course, but it’s my duty to prepare you for it.” Kiyoko reaches underneath the table into one of the cupboards, pulling out a newer scroll, bound with black ribbon. “And so, I’ve translated the most important information of this book in short notes, for you to read.”

She extends the scroll to Hinata, who takes it gingerly into his hands. The paper is heavy, rolled and bound tightly together, likely containing a very thorough analysis about what he’s learnt from Kiyoko. Hinata manages a smile, the coil in his stomach loosening as he meets her eyes. “Thank you, Lady Kiyoko.”

She smiles back. “It’s my job. Now, about the—”

Kiyoko doesn’t have time to finish before the sound of a blaring horn cuts through the air, shocking Hinata enough that he jumps backwards, sending Kiyoko’s head whipping up to the top of the steps. Her grip on her staff tightens, and she motions with her head for Hinata to follow her upstairs and outside, where the various villagers convene towards the town square. Yachi joins them on the porch, Karako perched on her shoulder with worry in both of their eyes.

“Kiyoko, what was that?” Yachi asks as they walk. Both she and Hinata have to walk twice as fast to keep up with Kiyoko’s brisk stride, Hinata doing his best to flatten out his tunic as they approach the village.

“The entrance of the Royal Embassy,” Kiyoko tells them. “Look sharp, but don’t fret.”

Hinata falters at the mention of the _royals,_ but quickly makes up lost footing as they enter the square, the crowd parting at the sight of both Lady Kiyoko and the White Mage. Hinata does his very best to stand tall, if not to seem proud to simply find in sister and mother among the masses. When he does, he lets his shoulders drop, watching as a man in formal regalia steps out of a lavish carriage and surveys the crowd. He hasn’t come alone— two armor clad knights stand at the base of the carriage, another holding the horse’s bridle, all three standing proud and strong as the formally dressed man speaks.

“Where is the White Mage?” he calls out, voice hushing the crowds murmurs into a ringing silence. Hinata feels the eyes that pierce the back of his head as he takes a single step forwards, legs shaking, reacting to call before his mind has even processed what is going on.

“I— I am Hinata Shouyou of Torino, and the White Mage,” Hinata replies, bowing for the messenger. “Ah, um, pleasure to make your acquaintance!”

Hinata looks back up to see the four Royal visitors not only bowing, but taking a knee, heads tilted towards the ground as the formally dressed man produces a scroll from his robe.

“His Royal Highness, our benevolent King Daishou Suguru of Seishun, humbly requests your presence, merciful White Mage, in our great capital of Senshi in a few days time. His Royal Excellency hopes, with all due respect, that his request is met, and as gracious and kind a ruler he is, will provide reimbursement for travel, and offers only the most eloquent accommodations as fit for your most important satisfaction. He, the King and Ruler of our blesséd country of Seishun, tells that the purpose of this meeting is not only a formality but what His Royal Highness wishes to be the start of a precious bond made in mutual love for our glorious land and in hope to defeat the wretched Dark Mage, once and for all!”

Hinata blinks, looking from Lady Kiyoko’s stoic expression back down to the messenger with a look of confusion as to the formality of his message, reeling from the shock of having a message from the _king_ delivered to _him._

 _How did word get out this fast?_ Hinata wonders, trying not to show his worry through his face. _There’s no way they could know by now, I only found out in early spring. Was it the merchants? There haven’t been—_

The royal messenger takes another sharp breath, and beside him, Hinata hears Kiyoko sigh, _“Ah, there’s more.”_

“If you, the wonderful White Mage, accept His Excellency’s request, you shall leave by caravan in two days time, arriving in Senshi with time to see the sights of our great capital before meeting with King Daishou Suguru. Please now state your response, and I shall humbly deliver it to our awaiting Royal Highness.”

The crowd is not subtle in how it shifts to turn to Hinata, the entire village awaiting his response to the messenger’s question. The wording, Hinata notes, is nearly as lavish as his clothes. Much too fancy for travelling through woods infested with evil monsters, and _terribly_ out of place in a village. It’s only until Karako squawks beside him that Hinata startles and realizes he hasn’t answered.

“Uh, yes?” he says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, um, yes! I accept.”

The messenger stands, bowing his head once more. “I am humbled, White Mage.” Behind him, one of the knights rolls her eyes.

“Then it is settled! We must take our leave, but His Royal Highness hopes to make your acquaintance in short time. You may all return to your duties! Long live the king!”

At that, Kiyoko has to stifle a laugh into her handkerchief, leaning into Yachi as the embassy piles back into the caravan and heads off the way that they came. The crowd disperses quickly, whispering and talking to one another, but Hinata can’t bring himself to move from his place, staring at the retreating caravan with utter disbelief. He’s shaking a little bit, entire body feeling electrified with anxiety and tainted excitement that makes his eyes stay wide even as his mother and sister approach them.

“Shouyou, did you hear that?” his mother exclaims.

“The king wants to meet with me,” Hinata mutters, eyes still fixed forwards. “The king wants to meet _me_.”

Kiyoko places a hand on his shoulder. “Daishou is the least of your worries. He’s not as… extravagant as the messengers make him seem.”

Hinata snaps out of his daze, whirling around to face Kiyoko. “You’ve met the king?” he shouts. He’s not the only one surprised— his mother’s eyes swell almost as large as his and Natsu begins shouting _king! King! King!_ Kiyoko only nods.

“I enchant weapons for his knights, so naturally I have. There is also an item I must check on frequently as well, but you’ll understand once you meet him,” she says.

“What does that even mean?” Hinata asks, mind looping eerily the same as his sisters shout of _king._ “And how am— why am— why does the king want to see _me?_ Is it because I’m the White Mage? How does he even know this?”

“Shouyou,” his mother interrupts, moving forwards to grab both sides of his face. “Stop those thoughts for a moment. I’m in charge of worrying, alright?” She turns away from her son to face Kiyoko, fist curling into the fabric of her skirt. “Lady Kiyoko, is it safe to travel through these woods? The merchants—” she reaches down and covers Natsu’s ears, “—have been dropping like flies. Surely they don’t intend for him to go all that way?”

“Miss Hinata, you’re correct in that the journey between communities is dangerous, but your son is nothing if not capable. He is an exceedingly gifted mage, and is gifted with quick wit and observational skills that are much greater than someone who has only trained a few seasons. He has much to learn, yes, but now comes a time where he must move on to the next path,” Kiyoko says.

Hinata looks down to his hands, feeling the deep set ache lurch from his chest. Despite his love for the town, for his family, and the promise he made to never leave, the restlessness inside of him rejoices at the new opportunity to escape, and the weight on his ribcage strengthens with the idea of seeing the king. Hinata isn’t sure how to be anything but hesitant even when he knows the answer to the question everyone is wondering, even when destiny has burnt the very choice he must take into the back of his mind.

“I’ll go,” he says, and his voice sounds stronger now, older. “And I’ll help everyone here, just like I said.”

Hinata watches as Kiyoko nods, Yachi beside her blinking away the beginning of tears in her eyes, watches as his mother scoops up Natsu in her arms with a trembling lip, trying to stay strong for one moment longer. He reaches out and places a hand on his mother’s arm, offering her a smile of reassurance, one that takes more strength than standing up to any royal embassy would ever need.

Kiyoko is the one to break the silence with a soft sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Hinata, I’m sorry we won't be able to finish our lesson. Remember to read that scroll,” she tells him.

“Ah, if you’d all like, I was just cooking dinner! It’d be nice of you to come,” Yachi offers.

“That would be lovely, Yachi. Thank you so much,” Hinata’s mother says with a tight smile.

With that, the prospect of food washes away the lingering tensions from everyone’s minds, the group travels back towards the edge of the village, Hinata doing his best not to linger behind. Natsu bounces up and down in his mother’s arms, bringing a smile to everyone’s face, even Hinata. In truth, the thing he’s most excited for isn’t an audience with the king, but a meal with those he loves, the ones closest to him. So he holds on tight and laughs along, runs up the steps and helps Yachi chop the vegetables and sings along with his sister, because this is what matters to him. These are the people he wants to save.

—

The last night before Hinata leaves, his mother invites Kiyoko and Yachi for an evening together before Hinata leaves for Senshi. Despite Yachi’s insistence to help, his mother keeps her firmly out of the kitchen, sending her off of the guise of wanting to repay her and Kiyoko for all they’ve done. Yachi squeaks at the offer, and it’s Kiyoko who has to offer thank you instead, Yachi blushing and trying not to stutter out every thought in her head.

There's little festivities the eve of his sendoff, nothing extravagant, nothing lavish or huge. In the air lies something solemn, burning him with unease from the inside out. The sun has only begun to set, and yet, something feels as if it were about to close. A chapter of a book, a moment frozen in time, not yet over, still so much to begin. Hinata shudders— the ache is strong today, weakening him enough to make moving tiring. For now, he settles in the living space near his kitchen, Natsu asking question after question about the capital to Kiyoko and Yachi. Her chatter persists even as dinner is served. Hinata’s grateful for it— conversation led by his younger sister somehow makes everything a little lighter.

Hinata tidies up for his mom, letting her and Kiyoko discuss something as they sip on their tea. Outside, the sun threatens to set, threatens to end the evening and begin the last night Hinata has before heading for Senshi. It’s not as if he’s having cold feet— Hinata _wants_ to go. He’s never stepped foot outside the borders of Torino, hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing the world, no matter how dangerous it may seem. And yet, fear bounces around inside of him, the ache swirling and threatening to encompass him if he doesn’t pay it enough attention.

From out of the corner of his eye, he can see Kiyoko embracing his mother, her back facing Hinata. He means to look away, he really does, but Kiyoko catches his eyes before he even has the chance. In a second, guilt pricks his throat— he’s managed to break a moment that was never his to begin with. The look Kiyoko gives him isn’t what he expected, rather something soft, something _tired._  As discreetly as he can, Hinata makes his way over, wiping his hands onto his pants as his mother and Kiyoko break apart.

“Ah, Shouyou,” his mother says. She smiles, but it doesn’t extend past her nose, eyes holding some kind of pain that creases the crows feet at their corners. “Kiyoko was telling me more about what could be expected in the— the capital.”

“You know what the king wants?” Hinata asks.

Kiyoko shakes her head. “No, not quite. I just know that between a task assigned or problem arising, your journey might just start in Senshi.”

“Oh,” Hinata says. “ _Oh._ ” He turns to his mom, sees her tear jerked eyes and blotchy red cheeks. “Mom, I promise I’ll write whenever I can.”

His mother sniffles, somehow smiling as tears slip down the side of her nose. “I know, Shouyou. You— don’t forget about little old me, okay?”

“Mom!” Hinata exclaims. “I’m not leaving forever. Just… for an undetermined amount of time.”

 _Undetermined._  It’s open ended in a way where a pessimist could find room for tragedy. Hinata can only see adventure, can only picture the places he’ll see and the things he could send back. His chest pangs, and he mirrors his mother’s bittersweet smile as her arms wrap around his centre. There’s only a split second of peace before his moment, too, is broken.

“Big brother, what does undetermined mean?” Natsu asks from behind him.

His mother moves away from him to turn to her daughter, and Hinata feels his entire body seize. He can’t not tell her, and the dread for the inevitable creeps up the back of his neck.

“It just means I don’t know when I’ll get back,” Hinata says quietly, kneeling down to bring himself closer to Natsu’s height. “Maybe it’ll only be a month, or maybe the snow will have come and gone again.” He tries to keep his voice light, to keep the mood up, but Natsu is too smart for this. Her expression drops, then twists, little hands curling into fists as she pulls away.

“You lied! You— you liar!” she shouts.

“Natsu,” their mother says, hand reaching out to soothe her, only for Natsu to move away.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me.” Natsu’s eyes haven’t left Hinata, brown obscured by the tears that well up without her control. “You said you’d protect me!”

The sucker punch of feeling to Hinata’s stomach doesn’t help make him look less guilty as his sister’s cries only grow. She was never one for tantrums, but they _all_ knew the sound of her cries— Hinata all too well.

“Natsu, I’m going so I _can_ protect you,” Hinata tells her. “I have to help you, and all the kids like you in the country, and— and—”

His words trail off as Natsu’s eyes break away from his. No one stops her from running out the back door, even though both he and her mom call after her until the door slams closed. Yachi offers to follow her and make sure she’s alright, both the Hinata’s too stunned to move from their place, and it’s Hinata’s mom’s small plea of _yes, I’ll come with you,_ that finally breaks him. Echoes of two promises caught butting heads furthers the pounding in his brain— he can’t leave if he wants to keep her safe, and he can’t keep her safe if he stays.

Something washes over him, sunlight after a storm, warms his body and sends adrenaline through his veins. He sees sunlight, sees laughter, sees love, all in flickers that last only half an inhale. Neither desires are selfish, but in that moment, Hinata sees _everything_ at once, feels more emotions than his own in a tidal wave of realization that this town was never where he was meant to stay. He feels the ache in his chest intensify the slightest bit, and he immediately brings a hand up to grasp at his shirt where it squeezes painfully, as if to soothe it down. It doesn’t work, and the ache continues as it always has as he makes his way outside.

But as he walks through the backdoor and sits on the porch and sees Natsu sitting with Yachi and his mother in a small circle with her back to him, he can’t help but falter, even if just for a moment. Beside them, she seems even younger, even further away.

 _You can protect them,_ he tells himself. _You can keep this moment safe for years to come._

For some reason, the prospect of leaving isn’t an exciting trip as he thought before. It’s the beginning of something, the end of something else. What awaits him on the road ahead is a journey like no other.

Wordlessly, Kiyoko walks up beside him, staff held loosely in the crook of her elbow. Hinata doesn’t look her way at first, eyes fixed on the others as they manage to pull a smile from Natsu. She has something to say— her posture is turned equal parts to him and the scene in the clearing, mouth on the verge of open, silence too tense to not be broken.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Kiyoko tells him. It’s stronger than assurance, the unflinching tone in her quiet voice refusing to waver. “Not because of destiny or fate or a prophecy, even if they are bigger than we can control. No, because this is what you know is right, isn’t it?”

Hinata lets his eyes drift from his sister to Kiyoko, stares at the eyes behind her frames. They’re gentle, they are kind, a wordless comfort that this is something he can control. And despite the questions still unanswered and the worries he’s yet to face, Hinata stays silent, nodding in a way he hopes Kiyoko will understand means _thank you._

“Hinata Shouyou,” she says. She shakes her head, then fixes him with a bittersweet smile. “White Mage. I could not be more honoured to be your mentor.” Her hand reaches up to hold his shoulder for a moment, and Hinata can’t help but swell with pride, back straightening, chin tilting high.

“Thank you,” he says again, but this time, it’s loud, it’s heard, it’s strong and it’s truthfully raw in a way Hinata never knew he could be. This fire of determination that burns inside him crackles, grows, and as if sensing it, Kiyoko smiles a little wider.

They both turn back to the clearing eventually, leaning on the old porch railing despite how it creaks in protest. His sister is giggling now as she and Yachi teach his mother hand games, chanting nursery rhymes as they trade claps and smiles. His sister has stopped crying, eyes growing less red by the minute, little hands splaying palms instead of curling fists. Even his mother looks more relaxed. Her exhaustion is still clear in the bags under her eyes, but the wrinkles are not from a furrowed brow, but a wide smile, a _loving_ smile towards her youngest daughter who still has the world to learn.

And _Yachi._  Hinata glances to Kiyoko, and can almost find the girl’s reflection in her glassy blue eyes. Yachi is nervous energy compacted into a girl on her best days, but today, you couldn’t have even guessed it. Soft pink sundressed creased at the knees where she kneels in the grass, her eyes brighten and light up with every word Natsu says, hand fiddling with a simple golden chain around her wrist. When she smiles, he hears Kiyoko sigh. When she turns her way, he hears Kiyoko hold her breath.

“You love her,” Hinata states plainly. Kiyoko has never said it aloud, has never publicly announced what her and Yachi are, but to Hinata, it’s clear as day. When he first begun to talk to Yachi more, when she’d pick up clothes from his mother with Karako on her shoulder, he’d hear snippets of adoration, of fawning and blush. Now, in the months that have passed since the attack of the Dark Mage’s monster, the other side of the coin has been revealed.

“I do.” Kiyoko’s words have an old soul’s tinge, are heavy and longing and wise. “She shifted my universe’s centre a long time ago.” Slowly, she pulls a necklace out from under her shirt, thumbing the stone charm melded to the end. “Yachi knows what I do is not always safe. One day, I may share stories of it, but today is not the time. What matters is the love we share, that bond that exists even when she isn’t by my side.” She turns to him, dropping the necklace back down. “You have people to live for, to fight for. Don’t forget them, even when it’s far.”

“How could I forget any of you?” Hinata asks, and it’s his turn to smile. He looks back out to his sister, her bright orange hair a beacon in the blue twilight. “How do you manage being away?”

At that, Kiyoko shrugs. “When we’re together, the entire world is springtime, and flowers grow in everything she touches. When we’re apart, my chest aches, but those gardens we created will never die.” She looks wistfully back, follows Hinata’s gaze and looks past it to where Yachi sits, coaxing Natsu towards her. “Do you know what I mean?”

Hinata doesn’t look away from his sister, from her chubby cheeked smile to her mess of orange hair, from the way her hands clutch onto a bundle of weeds to the glimmer of childhood innocence in her eyes. He thinks of the constant ache in his own chest, fluctuating, but ever present. He rests his hand over it, a bittersweet smile forming on his face. “...Yeah. I think I do,” he says, eyes drifting downward.

Later that night, before they all go to bed, Hinata finds his sister bleary eyed in her pyjamas, waiting outside of his bedroom door. There is a stubborn streak in the family, but it could never split their bonds apart, could never stop Hinata from opening his arms and holding her tight. If she whispers _I’m scared, but I’m a big girl, so don’t tell,_ then nobody has to know. If Hinata blinks away tears as his sister tells him _be the best White Mage, okay?_ it’s only out of sheer pride and a promise he needs to keep.

And that night, he lets her sleep in his room, like they would when they were younger, when Natsu still stumbled over her words and Hinata thought that the market square held the entire world’s treasures. He wonders what she’ll think when she’s his age, what the country will be like in a decade’s time. When he shuts his eyes and slows his breathing, he pictures forests without fear and dancing in the streets, his sister’s eyes bright and wide and the kingdom saved. When sleep finds him, it’s dreamless for the first night in a long time, and the last time for many months to come.

—

When the horse drawn carriage arrives for Hinata, it's only just broke morning. The thing itself looks sturdy, as lavish as the city it comes from. Hinata stands in front of it, the driver packing his bag away, and admires. Green and gold swirls around the doors, curtains spread to show a glimpse of a plush interior. At the front, the horse kicks its feet, and Hinata realizes he’s _leaving._

The entire town has come to see him off, though many just from afar. Beside him, Kiyoko and Yachi finish helping load the carriage. Yachi has fed the horse an apple already, and gifted Hinata with five sugar cubes to spare.

“Y-you’re my friend,” she declares. “Visit when you can, and maybe— if all works out— Shimizu and I can travel to see you? If it’s not busy and you’re okay and—”

“Yachi,” Hinata says, snapping her from her worried daze. Kiyoko holds her girlfriend’s hand, squeezes it tightly as Hinata continues. “Thank you. Thank _both_ of you— for everything.”

“It is a gift to me to be your mentor, Hinata,” Kiyoko reminds him again. “Your staff’s enchantments should be in full effect by now, and if you ever want to change them or strengthen them, you may. It’s your power now. It always will be. Remember this.”

She’s as poised as ever, back straight and staff tall. Hinata doesn’t care about any of it, wraps his arms around both her and Yachi in a huge group hug. His arms aren’t quite long enough to reach, but after a moment of shock, he feels a hand on his back and Yachi’s head on his shoulder.

“How could I forget?” Hinata responds, waiting another moment before untangling their arms and stepping away.

This is the moment where he leaves the nest, where Hinata spreads his wings and takes destiny into his hands. He means it when he says that he’ll remember, knows that Kiyoko’s teachings will follow him no matter how far he goes. As his smile widens, his eyes grow more and more teary, until he’s forcing himself not to cry.

Behind him, his mother hums. She rests her hand on his shoulder, and when Hinata turns around, it’s to meet her teary eyes with his own. Without saying a word, she shoves a bundle into his hands, and smiles as she holds on.

“A gift,” she tells him as Hinata removes the paper, unfurling the fabric inside. “I sewed it to keep you warm on your travels— it’s all I can do, but Lady Kiyoko enchanted it. It’s got protective magic, no doubt.”

The article in question is a cloak. The material is thick, made to withstand the seasons and keep what’s unwanted out and what’s needed in. It’s collared, and the fabric is so soft it could be a blanket, and it’s _home._  As he stretches it out in front of him to get a better look, another object falls from inside of it— a hat, piqued at the top, sewn with care in every crease and fold. As he picks it up, he looks to his mother, watches as she holds a shaking smile through tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks.

“The hat is just a hat,” she tells him, and worry flickers in the crinkles by her eyes.

“It’s never just a hat, or a cloak, or anything,” Hinata says. He surges forwards, and throws his arms around her. “Not when it comes to you.”

And Hinata hears her trying not to sob, hears hiccups stutter once, twice in her throat before she pulls away. That look of bittersweet happiness, of a genuine smile with tired eyes rocks him to the core, makes it harder and harder to let go and wrap the cloak around him, set that hat atop his head. He stands taller in it, feels the balance of both articles as if they were a part of him. His mother squeezes his shoulder once more before letting Natsu rush forwards to practically tackle him.

“You gotta write, big brother,” she demands, not minding how her brother stumbles. “And you gotta send me princess stuff, ‘nd tell me _all_ about the cool stuff you see and stuff you fight and— and—”

“Slow down there,” Hinata laughs, ruffling her hair. It’s his turn to feel a pang as his sister stands proud, all while she sniffles and ignores the tears she was crying earlier that morning. Hinata falters, and softens, reaching forwards to pull her into a hug. “I’m gonna miss you, Natsu.”

“Come back soon,” she tells him. “Okay?”

Hinata falters, if only just for a second. He doesn’t want to break anymore promises to the people who matter most to him, doesn’t want to make any he can’t keep.

 _You can keep this, though,_ he tells himself. _You won’t be gone forever._

Hinata kneels down, outstretching his hand. “Pinky promise?”

Natsu nods eagerly, wrapping her little finger in his. “You’ll try and make me a princess? Or a knight?”

At this, Hinata breaks a laugh, voice cracking. “One day, Natsu, you’ll rock the world.” He wraps his arms around her one last time, holding her tight against his chest for one moment longer. Once he steps into that carriage, he enters another world, becomes the White Mage instead of Hinata Shouyou, the boy from Torino. With a heavy sigh and a back strong and proud, Hinata makes his way into the carriage, sticking his head out of the little window to wave goodbye. He waves until the faces of his family and friends become tiny specks in the distance, enveloped by the thick blanket of trees.

Leaning back, Hinata closes his eyes, and smiles. Today, his journey begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THUS WE LEAVE THE TUTORIAL VILLAGE! questions, comments, maybe leave some kudos? next chapter will hopefully be out January 1st! 2018 here we come!!


	3. new horizons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYA MOOKS HERE!! so i know we said january but we got impatient and excited to get this out. happy new years and a belated christmas everyone!!! we're finally getting into the actual plot! (i wrote quite a bit this chapter, can you tell? can you tell where? im so proud of it!)
> 
> in other news, we're thinking of trying to bump updates for this fic up to bi-weekly. its possible, according to kj, but it might get a bit hectic. enjoy the chapter!! introducing The Boy....
> 
> \--
> 
> hi its kj!! trying to write more.... in the meantime feel free to just Ask abt the universe nd suchon tumblr!

The road to Senshi is a three days ride. Hinata has only been far enough to still see the clearing, so as the carriage pushes forwards, he watches the surroundings with glee. It’s mostly trees, big sturdy oaks and pines that stretch their old trunks up into the sky. Every so often, they pass massive rocks dropped out of seemingly nowhere. The trail is overgrown with flowers and weeds, little flecks of colour along the dull dirt road.

The carriage itself surprised Hinata. It’s interior is plush, with seats that he sinks into and curtains on each window. The luxury of the interior walls, all painted with blue and white swirls, is meticulous— not a chip or scratch to be seen. Hinata curls up on the bench, leaning his feet up against the walls. Is this bad behaviour? Probably, he figures, and continues lying there.

By the second day, he’s learned all about the driver. A stout old man with a thick accent and an even thicker mustache, he spoke exclusively in what sounded like proverbs and age old sayings until Hinata realized that his overly polite ways were probably due to being a king’s worker. By the third day, the conversation became a full circle, and Hinata returned back to the back of the carriage to watch the world go by.

Hinata had barely leaned back against the bench before the entire carriage jostles to the side, flinging him against the wall before it settles back straight. Hinata yelps, scrambling up to the front to check on the driver.

“Are you alright?” he asks, but there’s no time for the man to react as he shouts again, reins slipping as the horse breaks free. And as the carriage tips and Hinata falls back inside, he sees a mangled creature rushing forwards.

Thoughts escape Hinata in the time it takes for the carriage to tip onto its side and for him to hit the ground. Dazed, but unhurt, he rubs his head, scrambling for his staff as the creature releases a strangled screech. Before he can even stand, ice travels through his veins, the cry shaking him to the core. It morphs and twists into the cries of his sister and the roars of the monster clawing towards her. His vision blurs, suddenly unable to see anything in front of him except diluted colours and blobs. He can’t hear anything except the pounding of his chest, the strangled cries of the past turning him to stone, immobilizing him with a sense of unadulterated fear. If he doesn’t move, it’ll all be over. If he doesn’t flinch, she’ll be hurt.

His limbs shake too much for him to feel strong, and the carriage doors take a good kick to open up. Adrenaline lifts him out of the cart itself, but once out, nothing prepares him for the unsightly view of a monster, bone thin and ragged. Its horns curl into the sockets of eyes, skin sucked sight onto bones that shift in ungodly ways. Grunts and screeches fill the air as the creature scrambles forwards, Hinata backing up further and further, his heart pounding in his chest, thoughts swarming and _swarming_ with magic underneath his skin until—

Silence.

Hinata freezes in place, because suddenly, all sound leaves him. His heartbeat disappears, the roars become less than a whisper, and Hinata’s own screams become nothing more than a hollow shape of his mouth. His staff arm trembles as he swats the creature away, sending a shock of energy through its chest. It does nothing to stop it, only stunning it enough for Hinata to skid backwards and try to calm his racing thoughts of being _deaf._

There’s a few moments where he can _see_ the thing, where the silence doesn’t scare him enough to make him freeze. As Hinata fires off a bolt of electricity from his staff, he squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, he sees _nothing._

It’s darker than anything he’s seen before, his surroundings nothing but emptiness to left untouched. Hinata never saw if his attack lands, and in a desperate attempt not to be touched, crafts a shield around his body, imagines a magical bubble sticking to every inch of his skin. The only real sensations is the magic that ebbs and flows from within him, and the taste of blood from his mouth. He keeps his eyes wide open, and searches for light where there is none, all orientation lost to him as he focuses only on keeping the shield intact.

Suddenly, it all comes back, colours blinding him just in time to see a sword slice the monster in half and a flash of something green. Hearing takes a moment— a dull ring occupies his ears as he lets the shield dissolve from around him— until finally, the crunch of the rocky path can be heard. As his eyesight clears, the monster’s killer comes into view, and Hinata finds himself almost holding his breath.

The boy in front him stands tall, his dark hair sticking up every which way. His armor is fitted, made of white silver and trimmed with a brilliant light blue and gold— Senshi’s colours. He sheaths the sword before Hinata can get a good look at it, and approaches, brows furrowed in obvious concern.

“That was one hell of a protective spell,” he tells him. “Are you alright? You did the right thing there— sense-stealers are hard to fight on your own.”

“Uh, yes! I’m okay, but the driver…” Hinata looks nervously over his shoulder to the toppled carriage, no sign of the other man nearby.

“I may have passed him— he was running towards the capital,” the boy tells him, offering him a hand up. Hinata gladly takes it, and nearly feels himself be pulled forwards from his strength. “I am Iwaizumi Hajime, First Knight of the Royal Order. Where are you travelling to?”

“Ah, the— the city, Senshi,” Hinata stammers. He rubs his face with his hands, thoughts running a mile a minute. “Oh gods, that wasn’t even my carriage or my horse.”

“These are hard times. Whoever paid for it will probably understand. You’re far from the first,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I’m headed back to the capital now. We’re not too far. If you’d like someone to walk with, I’d be glad to escort you.”

Hinata hopes he’s not making a fool of himself as he so obviously fidgets with his cloak. “Oh, gosh, so polite…” he mumbles, thinking out loud. He shakes the stun off, looking back up towards Iwaizumi. “Ah, yes, that'd be very, very appreciated, thank you!”

Iwaizumi nods, looking back out at the carriage. “Do you have any bags we should take?” he asks him, already making his way over.

“Yes, but I’m not sure you could get to it, it’s all trapped under—“ Hinata’s words stop flowing, jaw dropping in awe as Iwaizumi props the carriage up with one hand, lifting it up and over his head. “Oh.”

Iwaizumi opens the compartment where Hinata’s bag was kept, catching it with his free hand as it falls. Stepping out from under it, he gently places the carriage back down and walks back to Hinata. “Ready? We can make it by nightfall if we hurry.”

“Yes!” Hinata says, eagerly taking back his bag. “Thank you again, I’m glad you helped.”

Iwaizumi bows his head slightly. “I haven’t asked your name— sorry for that.”

“Hinata Shouyou!” Hinata tells him with a beaming smile.

Together, they make their way down the road, Hinata carrying his staff close to his chest just in case. After watching Iwaizumi deal with the monster so quickly, he has little doubt of the other’s competence, nor his strength— he lifted up the carriage as if it were nothing, why should Hinata worry? Hinata watches him as they walk, takes note of the strong line of Iwaizumi’s jaw and the olive undertones of his brown skin. His eyes are a bright yellowish-green, and the pupil splits in a way that Hinata has never seen before— down the centre, almost catlike.

“What brings you to Senshi? Not many people bother to travel, not with the roads being how they are,” Iwaizumi asks. As he speaks, Hinata notices the sharp points of his teeth, so unlike any he’s ever seen before.

“I actually have, well, um… the king asked to see me,” Hinata tells him sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t even been outside of my village, so this is a big leap, y’know?”

Iwaizumi nods knowingly, his expression changing from curious to content, the furrow of his brow softening somewhat. “What village, if you mind me asking?”

“Torino! It’s right along the East River, just right off this road a few days away. Nothing much is there, though,” he tells him. Just talking about his hometown makes him feel a bit warmer, lets him drop his shoulders and sigh. “I love it there, but it’s good to see more, don’t you think? Ah, you must know! Being a knight and all.”

Iwaizumi nods, looking up towards the pale sky, his lips quirking upwards. “I agree. Strong roots are important, but sometimes there’s things that have to be done.”

“Where are you from?” Hinata asks. “Ah, sorry if that’s too personal! You don’t have to answer.”

Hinata waits, somewhat nervously, for a response. It’s a few moments before Iwaizumi says anything, and when he does, it’s not much.

“I grew up in the forest, near a village up north. Just me and mom, lots of time in nature,” he responds.

Hinata’s eyes widen with excitement, and he bounces up and down as they walk along. “I live— _lived,_ with my mom and sister. Her name is Natsu. She’s only six, but she’s real smart for her age,” Hinata tells him. “She wants to become both a knight _and_ a princess right now.”

“She sounds lovely,” Iwaizumi says, chuckling softly. It rumbles in his chest, sounds like soft thunder off in the far distance.

And that’s how the rest of their journey goes— mostly silent, but punctuated by Hinata speaking, asking questions, doing his best to fill the silence. Iwaizumi often doesn’t start the conversation himself, but offers to carry his things a few hours in. Hinata protests, but in the end, Iwaizumi doesn’t seem affected by the extra weight in any way at all.

Spending hours walking is a good way to get to know someone. Iwaizumi moves at a steady pace, but stops when Hinata needs to rest or take a water break. Iwaizumi lets him ask questions about the Royal Order and the knights who live there— he’s a man of few words, but cracks a few smiles over the course of their journey and never complains about having Hinata there.

“What had you so far from the capital?” Hinata asks at the three hour mark, during one of the small breaks in their travels. His legs are aching and he’s hungrier than he’d like to admit, munching on some leftover bread gifted to him by his mother, but even that couldn’t stifle his curiosity.

“There was a horde of monsters gathering around where I found you. A few got into the outskirts of the capital, so King Daishou sent me,” he tells him. He’s kneeling by a bush, pushing through the thorns and picking something from inside.

“Alone?” Hinata asks. “Did you walk the entire way?”

“Yes, to both. I had to track the horde down before I could deal with it,” he explains. He pulls his arm from the bush and outstretches a palm towards Hinata. Inside are several red berries, plump and shiny. “Here, have these.”

Hinata lowers the bread from his mouth, blinking at the berries curiously before looking back at Iwaizumi. “Ah— don’t you need to eat too?” he asks, stomach pricking with worry. Walking miles without being tired, lifting up a carriage as if it were nothing, not eating even once since he saw him— Hinata wonders if he’s even human.

Iwaizumi hums in thought, glancing down at the berries before shrugging. “You’ve been travelling, probably eating stale food for a while. You don’t have to worry about me.” With that, he drops the berries into Hinata’s hands and stands up. “We should start heading out soon. Avoiding nightfall would be best.”

“O-okay!” Hinata exclaims, shoving the last of the bread and berries into his mouth together. They’re sweet to the taste, and acts almost as jam to the bread. Iwaizumi stares at him for a moment, smiling to himself before helping Hinata stand up. Hinata mumbles out a _thank you,_ a bit surprised by how rough his skin feels, calloused by probably years and years of training. He stares down at Iwaizumi’s hands, looks at the slightly pointed nails at the end of each finger. They’re blunt and dark, but not painted, as if they were claws.

Hinata furrows his brows in thought. There’s no way Iwaizumi could be fully human, he realizes. Maybe he didn’t imagine that flash of green— maybe he could shape shift. _Is it rude to ask if someone is human?_ Hinata wonders. He remembers tales of elves with pointy ears and people with animal-esque attributes—werecats, mermaids and the sort— but never before had he _seen_ someone non-human.

By the time he snaps out of his thoughts, Iwaizumi is a bit ahead of him on the trail, turned around and looking at him questioningly. Hinata shakes his head and yelps out an apology before jogging over next to him, continuing on with their trek to the capital.

—

Civilization creeps up slowly on them. It starts with the clearing of the woods, with houses and temples that popped up like erratics in the rolling fields. The road branches off, but Iwaizumi stays true to his path, nodding to the increasing number of people they meet. And through the horizon, with the sun dancing low, all its colours trailing behind it, Senshi truly comes into view. Chatter, laughter, voices from the cities' people in tongues of all kind ring through the air. There is music playing— a flute humming alongside a harp— and Hinata can even smell bread wafting from a bakery.

Perhaps the most striking detail is the enormous castle in the distance, its arched roof taller than any of the many buildings around it, sat atop a massive staircase carved from rock. Even at their distance, Hinata marvels, jaw wide and eyes bulging at the foreign sights to a country boy like him. Iwaizumi lets him slow down, waits for him as they approach the stone gates. The two wooden doors are open wide, and the archway reaches high above both of their heads, higher than any home Hinata has ever entered. Along the top, soldiers clad in a similar fashion to Iwaizumi stand on guard. At the sight of them approaching, they all bow, curt, heads down, before standing attention again. Confused, Hinata turns to ask Iwaizumi about it, but never gets the chance. A knight, who was lingering by the entrance, has already bounded over.

“There you are!” she exclaims. Unlike the others, she shows less respect, her shoulders relaxed and face sporting a sly smile. Hinata startles for a moment, taken aback by not only her eager attitude, but her appearance— much taller than him, long silvery blonde hair braided back, two grey cat ears atop her head, a tail swishing behind her. Once she reaches them, she mock salutes, looking between Iwaizumi and Hinata with excitement clear in the bounce of her step.

“Alisa, I hope we didn’t worry you,” Iwaizumi says.

“You, not so much, but I never expected that you’d come back with _The White Mage!”_ she exclaims, turning to Hinata. “I’m your Royal escort, by the way. Alisa Haiba, Knight of the Royal Order. What happened to that carriage?”

Hinata freezes, unsure of whether or not he should bow or if Iwaizumi would answer. When no one speaks, he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek. “Ah— a, um, sense-stealer? Attacked the carriage,” Hinata says sheepishly. “The driver ran off and we lost the horse, but I was able to fend for myself until Iwaizumi here showed up! We walked back together.”

“The original mission was a success,” Iwaizumi tells Alisa. He doesn’t seem shocked at her announcement of Hinata being the White Mage, making him think if he already didn’t know, he had figured it out. “I should debrief with Kageyama. I trust you’ll both make your way to the castle safely.”

“Yes! Thank you for all you’ve done, Iwaizumi,” Hinata tells him, grinning wide. “Really— I wouldn’t have been able to navigate my way alone.”

“Hopefully we meet again,” Iwaizumi tells him. Nodding to Alisa, Iwaizumi smiles one last time before heading through the arch himself, heading into the crowds of the city. As Hinata watches him go, he feels a small bubble of excitement form at the prospect of meeting him again.

Alisa leans down as he slips out of view, lowering her lips to Hinata’s ear. “It’s rumoured he’s _half dragon,”_ she whispers, a grin spreading across her face.

Hinata jumps away in shock, nearly dropping his things. “Y-you’re kidding! Half dragon?”

Alisa laughs at his reaction, nodding. “Completely serious. That’s the thing about Iwaizumi— he doesn’t talk about it a lot, or himself for that matter. And from what I’ve seen in battle… he must be at _least_ half dragon.” She shrugs. “But really, who knows.”

Blinking away his surprise, Hinata shakes his head. “I guess that explains why he could lift a carriage like it was nothing with one hand…”

Alisa snorts. “Oh man, you haven’t seen anything yet— the King’s First Knight of the Royal Order has a habit of underestimating his strength,” she tells him. “But that’s a story for another day. For now, we bring you to your room. You’ll meet the king in the morning— tonight, you eat, you wash up, you sleep, and you get comfortable. Sound good?”

Hinata hums at the thought of a soft bed and clean clothes. “Sounds _amazing.”_

Alisa leads him through the bustling city, an arm on his shoulder to keep him from running into people as he gawks. Carts and carriages rush past on the streets, children dart between legs, and on either side of the road, merchants sell things of every shape and colour. The sheer volume of people takes Hinata by surprise— elves and humans, people wearing both rags and riches, the young and the old all mingle together on the streets, direction in their eyes and a destination already set. It’s all intimidating, and he’s glad Alisa is the one to show him around. More than once, people part simply at the sight of her and wave, children watching in wide-eyed awe as she passes.

“Your mom actually sewed me a dress once,” Alisa mentions as they duck under a canopy. “Kiyoko brought it down while she was visiting a few months ago— she’s real talented.”

“Oh!” Hinata shouts, the connection clicking. “You’re Saeko’s Alisa!”

“I am! I’ve been _dying_ to visit her hometown, but, y’know. I’m a little busy,” she says. “And so is she! I see you have the staff she carved— suits you well. To be honest, you _are_ shorter than I expected, though.”

“Um, thank you?” Hinata says, unsure whether it’s a compliment or not. Either way, Alisa accepts it with a smile, the pair of them approaching the steps to the castle.

Up close, the steps are even steeper, plated with granite and engraved with elegant designs. No one rests upon them, or sits at their foot. At either end, two knights stand watch, nodding to them as they begin their ascent to King Daishou’s castle.

It’s a sight to behold. As they grow closer, the details on all of the pillars become clear, and blurs give birth to statues of people and animals etched from the finest marble. Hinata cranes his neck up and up, tries not to stumble as he squints to see the top. Between the stained wood and the stone, the palace seems almost unreal, _untouchable,_  a fairy tale place coming true before his eyes.

Once at the top, Hinata is all too eager to see the inside. All along the main doors are flowers— beautiful orchids, cherry blossoms still young, lilies-of-the-valley, all blooming in vigour. There are more knights now, patrolling, guarding— they bow their heads and allow for their entrance, eyes following Hinata as the inside becomes revealed to him.

Draped from the ceiling are banners of light blue, white, and gold, each sporting the Kingdom’s emblem— a light blue shield with a white trim, fastened with an emerald in the middle and with two white snakes wrapped around it. Ceilings curve high over their heads, painted with intricate scenes in history, of prosperity and love, of nature and calamity. Hinata nearly trips on the ornate rug at his feet from not watching his step. Alisa only giggles and leads him up the spiral staircase that climbs up and up, into one of the many wings the palace can hold.

Leading him through the hall, Alisa’s back straightens. Hinata supposes it’s because of her station— all around them are other knights, with steely eyes that watch their every move. Hinata couldn’t feel more out of place— with the curious stares and the fancy walls, the vases and artwork adorning the wall that adds up to more gold coin than he’ll ever see.

“Ignore their stares,” Alisa assures him, patting his shoulder before she pulls a key from her belt. “They knew I’d be escorting the White Mage, so everyone is tryin’ to get a look at you.” She shoves the key into the door’s lock and twists, unlocking and sweeping it open in one motion. “Here’s where you’ll stay. King Daishou was _very_ serious about the quality of your room.”

Hinata’s jaw drops as he looks inside the room. Windows that reach from the floor to the ceiling let natural light in, heavy blue curtains pushed aside. In the middle of the room sits a four poster bed, white drapes drawn to show off the array of pillows that sits atop it. Hinata turns around, dropping his bags on the floor. Bookshelves line the far wall, with a fireplace and armchair to read in. The walls are mostly white and speckled with gold, adorned with various beautiful paintings of what Hinata assumes to be different places within Seishun. There’s a beautiful waterfall in the clearing of a forest, the Northern Sea with glaciers in the distance, the bustling city of Senshi itself, another jubilant city that’s caked in snow, a tall, decrepit tower that lies in the middle of the forest, and a portrait of the previous king. Pushed against one of the walls is a dresser, painted a light blue and fixed with golden knobs Hinata can only assume are pure.

“I guess you like it,” Alisa says, grinning at his awe. “There’s some clothes for you in the dresser. We’ll have the ones you’re wearing now washed before morning.”

“Ohhh my gods…” Hinata mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “This is unreal.”

At that, Alisa laughs. “Better believe it. I’ll leave you to get settled. At the end of the hall is the baths— feel free to use them. Dinner will be sent up in an hour or so, and in the morning I’ll bring you to meet the king,” she tells him. “There’s always a knight walking around, so if you need anything, just ask. They’ll know who you are.”

“Um, okay!” Hinata says, nodding his head. The dumbstruck sensation has yet to fade, leaving him reeling at the sheer elegance of the situation. “Thank you for everything, really.”

“No problem. See you in the morning,” she says with a smile, leaving with a quick bow and closing the door behind her.

Hinata heaves a sigh, collapsing onto the bed. It’s comfier than anything he’s ever laid on, and somehow only adds to the stress of the day. All the luxury overwhelms him, and when he looks at his hands, he finds them slightly shaking.

 _I needed to be saved from that monster,_ Hinata thinks to himself. _I still have so much to learn._

He buries his head into the covers, body screaming for sleep. The deep set ache in his chest is as present as ever, a tempest swirling in the depths of his chest. It doesn’t hurt— it never has— but Hinata can’t help but feel as if something is missing, as if there’s a piece to the puzzle he’s supposed to find.

Pulling himself up, Hinata decides he should bathe. There’s a day of new beginnings awaiting him when the sun rises again, and all he can do to prepare is rest well, and keep looking forwards.

—

That night, Hinata dreams of him again. A boy cloaked in darkness, hunched over, facing away from him, unaware that Hinata has appeared. The boy— the Dark Mage, though it feels so strange to think of him as such— looks lonely, somber. In his sleep, Hinata tosses, and in the dream, the world shifts.

His arms don’t reach the boy before he stands, black cloak slipping off lithe frame and falling to the floor. His hands are bony, are thin, are shaking as he reaches for a book on a broken shelf. Hinata takes a step forwards towards him, but he doesn’t get any closer, doesn’t make a sound. The boy flips through the pages of the book; Hinata can’t see the contents, and even though he continues to try, he can’t get any closer. He wants to yell, to call out to this boy, but his throat is clogged, and though he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. A sort of desperation bubbles up within him as the boy begins to walk away, book still in his hand, still unaware of Hinata’s presence. Hinata runs after him as fast as he can, but no space is gained, and the boy gets farther and farther away. The surroundings stretch like tunnel vision, and Hinata wants to cry without even understanding why. The ache in his chest grows, feeling less like a soft, bittersweet pain and more like a ton of rocks that are weighing him down. It grows, and grows, and grows and grows and grows—

And Hinata wakes up, his hand over his chest, gasping for breath and tears in his eyes. Everything around him feels cold and clammy, and it takes a minute to realize he’s not in his home anymore, another to remember that he’s in the castle. The windows outside show the sky still drenched in darkness, sparkling with the stars above. The moon cascades her light in the room, and the gold that litters the walls sparkles pleasantly, as if to calm Hinata down, to let him know nothing is wrong and he is safe.

He sits up in his bed. The soft covers around him are foreign, and he can’t help but miss his family, his village, as his chest wells up with something other than an ache with an unknown origin, yet so alike it, and the tears in his eyes follow suit. He doesn’t know why he’s crying, if there’s a reason for him to cry at all, but when he remembers the boy in his dreams, all he wants to do is cry.

Hinata wonders if it’s possible to miss someone you’ve never met before.

He figures the ache that continues steady in his chest is proof that it is.

Exhaustion overtakes him before his mind does, and after that, he doesn’t dream.

—

Morning comes in shades of orange and pink that leave lights dancing bright through the windows of Hinata’s room. He wakes as soon as the sun rises, too restless to try and sleep anymore, too anxious to ignore the excitement that brews in his gut. Today he meets the _king._ Today he’ll stand in a room and speak with the very person who rules the land. Hinata still struggles to grasp how it’s even happening— he _knows_ he’s the White Mage, but somehow he still feels too plain to be in a city caked with silver and gold.

Dressing in the clothes provided for him, Hinata does his best to look sharp. He’s never been one to worry about appearance, but today is as good as any other to start. With a soft white shirt and pants plain but, he hopes, still classy, Hinata pulls on his robe and hat, and waits for someone to fetch him.

By the time Alisa knocks on his door, he’s paced around the room enough times to wonder if he’s made a dent. He grabs his staff and rushes towards the door, throws it open and greets Alisa with what he hopes isn’t a strained smile.

“Good morning!” he says, stumbling a little bit.

She grins. “Good morning to you too!” She’s not wearing her armor today, but the clothes she adorns look just as official. Her white cloak is fitted, the sleeves and collar lined in the kingdom’s signature light blue and silver. The emblem, sewn into the side, shines in the sunlight, as does the glint of her sword holstered in her belt. Her hair is down today, and Hinata assumes it’s a sign that they wouldn’t get up to any fighting today, at least. “Ready to meet the king?”

“I’m gonna die,” Hinata blurts out, trying to keep his stomach inside of his body. “What if I say the wrong thing?”

Alisa shakes her head, leading him back down the hall. “Listen, you’re incapable of saying the wrong thing,” she tells him. “King Daishou may be intimidating, but he isn’t someone _you_ have to worry about.”

“Geh? What does that mean?” Hinata whisper-shouts, jogging to keep up with her long strides. Alisa doesn’t answer, her tail flicking playfully against Hinata as they round another corner and head down another flight of stairs.

Hinata has never met a werecat before. Sure, he’s _heard_ of them, but from what he was told, they’re an uncommon folk to see outside of their villages. Mustering up the courage, he figures Alisa wouldn’t mind his asking.

“Um, you’re a werecat, right?” Hinata asks her.

“No, this is just cosmetic,” Alisa chimes jokingly, ears wiggling. “Of course I am! Never met one before?”

Hinata blushes, looking away. “Sorry if that was rude, I haven’t,” he says. “I was just wondering, because I was always told that you stay in your groups. What brought you to the capital?”

Alisa’s pace slows slightly, and her light hearted demeanor falters. “It’s a bit of a long story,” she tells him, her voice growing a bit somber. “But it can be summed up by saying I wanted to help the people who couldn’t help themselves.”

Hinata nods, remembering his sister, remembering how his body pushed him forwards and the drive he can’t explain. “I understand that,” he says, and means it.

Alisa smiles, kind, soft, before sighing loudly. “Well then!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together. “King Daishou wants to meet you in the throne room. It’s just behind these doors here.” She motions to the two massive doors that separate the main hall from the room. “You ready?”

Hinata takes a deep breath, remembering why he’s doing this. With as much heart as he can muster, he grins. “As much as I’ll ever be!”

Alisa claps him on the back, an action that makes Hinata stumble a little bit as she shoulders open one of the doors, walking in a wide arc to prop it open. Hinata lingers in the entrance until it’s fully opened before stepping in, prepared to face the sight inside.

The throne room shimmers. White gold covers the entire room, brightening it to a shade Hinata feels almost inclined to squint at. All around the top of the massive room are windows, which shines daylight in through the curved columns that arch around the ceiling. At his feet is a carpet, light blue and trimmed with silver, which stretches all the way to a set of stairs. Hinata watches as Alisa climbs those stairs, approaching the right side of a man lounging in the tallest throne imaginable, the top portion of his face obscured by a veil. King Daishou Suguru smiles, nodding towards Alisa. At his side are two other knights— a strange looking redhead on the king’s left, and Iwaizumi on the opposite side.

As Hinata approaches forwards, the king stands to his full high height, the three knights bowing their heads as he begins his descent down the steps. Unsure of what to do, Hinata’s grip on his staff tightens at the sight of the king approaching him, face still unreadable behind the veil. His robes brush across the floor, a green so deep they look almost black, trimmed in yellow gold thread that compliments the sash at his waist. Hands pressed together, his wide sleeves cover his hands as well, leaving the only skin to be seen his mouth. In the shining light of the silvery room, the veil almost seems to glow. At its centre is an insignia shaped of an eye, gold against green, matching his entire ensemble _perfectly._

“White Mage Hinata Shouyou,” King Daishou says, voice smooth toned as his head tips. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Hinata very nearly jumps back in surprise at the address, stumbling over himself to bow. “The pleasure is all mine, King Daishou!” he shouts, hat falling off his head in his haste. “Ah!”

King Daishou holds out a single hand, halting Hinata as he rises. “Do not bow to me, White Mage. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” he tells him, voice lidded with the poise of a commander. Hinata instantly complies, holding his hat to his chest as he forces himself not to bow again out of habit.

“M- my apologies, King Daishou,” he stammers, doing his best to keep his back tall. The king’s body stays fixated towards him, his true gaze unseen through the precarious veil that still masks his face. “Um, forgive for my questioning, King Daishou, but what is that you’re wearing over your face?”

Surprisingly, King Daishou’s lips curve up into a smile, the intentions behind it unknown. “Oh, this thing?” he says, playing with the hem of the veil. “It’s a protective charm given to me by your mentor Lady Kiyoko’s mother. Now the lady herself maintains it. It is also part of why I called you here as well.”

With a clap of his hands, Iwaizumi, Alisa, and the unnamed knight all walk back down the stairs, bowing their heads to them as they pass, and walk out of the room, Alisa closing the door behind them. Once they are completely alone, King Daishou drops his hands, his smile turning into something much more serious.

“This veil protects you from a curse.” The words come out heavy like boulders on Hinata’s shoulders. “The Dark Mage,” King Daishou spits, the words flowing from his mouth with disdain, “killed my father, and as collateral, I was cursed.”

Hinata’s stomach curls at the very thought of such cruelty, of the boy in his dreams causing someone such pain. He holds his tongue as King Daishou sighs, turning his head to look up out the windows.

“Long ago, when I first received the veil, I was told only the White Mage could fix this curse,” he drawls. He tilts his head back to Hinata, the corner of his mouth lifting. “And now, here you are. Are you capable?”

Hinata swallows heavily. “I should be,” Hinata says slowly, remembering what Kiyoko taught him. Curses were webs, and in theory, all he had to do was untangle the ends. “But, if it isn’t rude to ask, what is the curse?”

King Daishou then does something odd. He laughs. “Ah, you haven’t heard? But that’s expected from a village boy,” he muses. “All who look into my eyes turn to stone.”

Hinata’s shoulders seize, fear brimming at the chill of his words. The room feels colder now, feels as if each wall is creeping closer in attempt to smother them. Holding his chin high, Hinata nods, doing all he can to stop the tremor in his hands.

“Okay. Could you close your eyes and lift your veil?” Hinata asks, voice quieter than he’d mean it to be. King Daishou complies without hesitating, one hand lifting the edge up so that two eyelids can be seen. Taking a step forwards, Hinata reaches his staff up to rest in near the bridge of Daishou’s nose. With a deep breath, Hinata closes his eyes, and channels the magic within him.

On the back of his eyes, he sees the web, the curse laid out in front of him. It is purple and inky, curling all around him in a mess of cascading circles and geometric shapes. There is no sense in the webbing, no pattern to how the lines intersect and weave. Hinata’s own magic almost seems _small_ in comparison to the scale of the curse, to the magnitude of its area.

Snapping his eyes open, Hinata lowers his staff, looking away. “I— King Daishou, I’m sorry,” he stammers, gut filling with dread. “Curses— they’re like webs, or mazes. There’s a pattern to all of them, a start and an end. But this— this is a knot that’s long since melted together.” He shudders. “I could— I could snap the bonds, but that would most likely leave you blind, or maybe worse. The repercussions of something like that—”

“White Mage,” King Daishou interjects, voice too venomous to sound sweet. Hinata winces. “It is all right. Some curses cannot be broken, it seems. Do not apologize.” He lowers the veil back down, shoulders tense. “There may be another solution, though.” Hinata looks back up at King Daishou once he’s sure it’s safe. The king turns so that his back is facing Hinata. “The Dark Mage is the spawn of all curses. If you end the Dark Mage, it may break mine.”

Hinata’s stomach drops. “End him? You mean—”

“Kill him, yes,” King Daishou confirms.

A fear that’s become too familiar to him runs ice cold in his veins. It rises up into his throat before he can even keep it down, recalls the fever dreams of oceans and death on the scale of something unimaginable, remembers the tales that children were told as bedtime stories for over a millennia.

 _Have you not heard the legends?_ Hinata wonders, staring at the back of King. _Don’t you know that nothing resets when the Mages die? If I die?_

Something in the back of his mind whispers _when,_  but Hinata pushes it back into the recesses of his mind. He inhales sharply, straightening himself and tries to shake off the fear that has frozen him solid. “I… I understand, King Daishou,” he said, voice trembling with the effort to speak. “I’ll do my very best.”

King Daishou turns, a smile adorning his lips once more. He walks over to Hinata, placing a hand on his shoulder. Hinata immediately tenses. “I put my trust in you, White Mage. Don’t let me down,” he tells him, and Hinata knows that lying underneath the words is a threat, a promise.

“I won’t,” Hinata promises him back. He wonders if the burning dread he feels is the result of King Daishou’s hidden eyes boring into him, staring him down.

King Daishou’s smile merely widens as he drops his hand from Hinata’s shoulder, clasping them back together in front of him. “Good. That is all, White Mage,” he tells him. Hinata nods and begins to walk away before King Daishou speaks once more. “But before you go, I’ve assigned Iwaizumi to aid you on your travels. He’s my best knight, the top in his ranks.”

“Th— thank you, King Daishou!” Hinata says, jumping slightly at the prospect of travelling alongside a familiar face. “I’m very grateful!”

“Very well then. I trust Iwaizumi will meet with you soon,” Daishou says. He begins to walk up the steps to his throne, and Hinata exits the room, careful to shut the door behind him.

Hinata doesn’t have the time to slink down to the ground and vegetate before Alisa jumps out at him, scaring him enough that he releases an embarrassing yelp.

“So, how’d it go?” Alisa asks, cocking her head to the side. Her ears twitch slightly, and she grins. Beside her is Iwaizumi, who crosses his arms and leans against the side. He’s changed out of his armor as well, but wears the same getup as Alisa with one difference— the trim of his cloak has two extra lines of gold. A sign of status, Hinata assumes.

“Ah, well… he asked me to lift his curse,” Hinata says, looking down at his feet. “But it wasn’t the kind that could be lifted. So then he just asked me to, uh, kill the Dark Mage.”

Iwaizumi sighs, rolling his eyes. “Of course he did,” he mumbles. He leans off the wall and stands tall, placing a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. He told me that I would accompany you, and I plan on working with you rather than for him while we’re together.”

“O-oh!” Hinata exclaims, mood lifting. Confusion lingers behind the mystery of his words, but from the trust put in him by others, Hinata can tell Iwaizumi is kind and worth trust.

“Hey, before you two do anything, you should stock up,” Alisa chimes in. “Saeko finished that sword you ordered— she’s _positive_ it won’t break on you.”

“The last one ended up bent, but that was my fault,” Iwaizumi says. He looks towards Hinata, green eyes strong as they stare. “You should come along. It wouldn’t hurt to see some of the city before we leave.”

Hinata shoves down the worry stemming from his lack of a plan by nodding, following the two out of the castle. It’s still early in the morning, but much of the city has awoken. Though not nearly as busy as the day before, the bustle still takes Hinata out of his comfort zone, makes him stumble and stagger more often than not. Noticing this, Iwaizumi motions him and Alisa down another path, through a network of alleys that duck away from the main road. The small action leaves Hinata with a little less tension between his shoulders, and a bounce to his step.

But nothing can shake off the lingering sensations left by the king. Hinata isn’t sure what he meant by telling him not to bow, nor does he fully understand the bittersweet tone he held the entire meeting.

“The king isn’t how I imagined him,” Hinata says, rolling his staff between his hands. “I— I didn’t think he was so young.”

Alisa turns to look at Iwaizumi, who continues walking, eyes drifting towards them. They’re alone on this path, but Iwaizumi takes an extra moment to listen before saying anything to them.

“Did he tell you the whole story of how he was cursed?” Iwaizumi asks, brows knit together. When Hinata shakes his head, he nods with a huff. “Figures. It’s a sensitive subject.”

“What happened?” Hinata asks, looking between Alisa’s nervous face and Iwaizumi’s steady one, trying not to flit about.

“Word of the Dark Mage’s awakening had started to spread two years prior. The late king, Daishou’s father, managed to track the Dark Mage down,” Iwaizumi tells him. There’s a heaviness to his voice, as if it’s aged older than the years he carries on his face. “O— He was young. Only about ten, still a child by any measure. The king assumed that his army would suffice.”

“W-wait, you mean to say a _child_ took out the last king?” Hinata asks, eyes blowing wide.

“Not just the king,” Alisa adds, her voice uncharacteristically small. “His _entire army."_

“And not just any child, either,” Iwaizumi reminds them, voice low. “There was only one survivor who made it back to Senshi to deliver the news of the army’s failure and the king’s death. It was later that night that the curse placed on Daishou Suguru had reaped its first victim— one of his servants.” His hands clench around nothing, before going slack, eyes flicking down to his feet. “And so he, a child his own, became king the day after he turned another person to stone.”

“I— That’s just—” Hinata stumbles over his words, eyes swelling with sympathy. “I had no idea something so horrible happened.”

“The story isn’t exactly common knowledge, so it’s understandable that you didn’t know,” Alisa tells Hinata. “I don’t think it ever left the castle walls. All the public knows is that the late king had died, and his son was left with a curse.”

“You shouldn’t dwell too much on it. The tragedy can only be prevented from happening again, not changed,” Iwaizumi says, head tilting high. “You cannot save everyone. But those who you do save never forget.”

“Oh, so philosophical,” Alisa chimes, punching his shoulder. Iwaizumi doesn’t even flinch— Hinata wonders if he even felt the hit. “C’mon, this is enough talk of death and destruction. Hinata, is there anything you need to buy?”

“Uh, no?” Hinata says, unsure of what he could even get.

“Good! Then straight ahead we go— the armory is at the end of this road.” With a grin she grabs both his and Iwaizumi’s wrists, hauling them forwards down the street.

The armory isn’t the grandest store on the street. It shares its front with colourful jewelers and magnificent silk shops, all with their colours and glitz that draws eyes away. In spite of it, it’s one of the busiest. People bustle in and out with packages in hand, kids stop at the window to look at the crested swords on display, and more than a few knights exit. As they approach, they nod towards the trio, a signal of acknowledgement Hinata isn’t yet sure how to repay. He’s saved from worrying when Iwaizumi holds open the door for him, Alisa already bounding through.

Hinata shuffles inside, the busy front packed with wide eyed shoppers and glass displays. Two guards watch the door, and the shopkeeper smiles from behind the counter at their entrance. Alisa waves, still skipping as she approaches another door towards the back of the storefront. All around them, people’s eyes follow, but neither Alisa nor Iwaizumi seem fazed. Hinata follows their lead and catches up to Alisa, stopping just before she opens the door.

“Welcome to the _real_ armory,” she says, tail flicking to the side as she pushes it open. “Saeko dearest, I’m home!”

From inside the back room, her shouts echo almost as loud as the clash of stone on steel. Hinata gawks as the door behind him closes, stunned at the sight that greets him. Smelters glow red, prongs lay on iron tables, and chains hang down from the rafters. To his left, weapons hang on the wall in orderly lines, tags tied on each hilt, so sharp the sight makes Hinata wince. Even in their beauty, their elegant jewels and metal work, the purpose of the blade still stands.

The clanging stops, replaced by heavy footsteps and a boisterous voice Hinata can faintly recognize. “Now, what made _you_ pay _me_ a visit?”

The woman who walks out is much shorter than Alisa, with grease smeared across her cheek and sweat sticking to her blonde hairline. She tosses her gloves aside as she rounds the corner to face them, and doesn’t even have the time to greet them before Alisa launches herself into her arms. Hinata holds his breath for a half second— Alisa is so _tall_ — but Saeko effortlessly catches her, placing her back down beside her. Alisa kisses the top of her head, humming as she turns back to face them.

“Hinata, Saeko, you two have probably met before,” Alisa says, arm around her partner. “However, new introduction— Saeko, meet the _White Mage.”_

“Wow, you’ve hardly grown since I last saw you, huh?” Saeko grins. Hinata blushes— more so at Alisa’s introduction than Saeko’s friendly jest on his height. “How’s Torino? How’s Kiyoko and Yachi?”

“The town hasn’t changed much,” Hinata shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, fought a giant skeleton monster. Lady Kiyoko taught me magic. Her and Yachi are doing well— what about you?”

“Mm, we’re doing good, as good as we can,” Saeko replies. She sighs, untangling herself from Alisa. “Assuming you came here for weapons, I should grab them from the back.” Alisa’s tail tries to wrap around Saeko’s leg, but it doesn't stop her from heading to the back. “Come with if you want!” she shouts as she leaves.

Iwaizumi makes his way expertly through the haphazard tables and swords, meeting up with Alisa’s enthusiastic run in moments. “I’m sorry about the last sword,” he tells her. “I should’ve minded my strength.”

Saeko waves him off without turning around, walking along the length of an oak table lined with various weapons. “It was temporary. This one was enchanted by Lady Kiyoko a while ago, but the spell needed time to set, and I am _not_ rushing your sword, no matter how many you break waiting.” She bends down, using two hands to balance a long blade between her hands. The hilt is a shimmering gold, tinted with green and swirled with something white. The blade itself is long, each edge thinning out to a deadly tip, the metal cool and unrelenting even in the warm light of the armory. At the centre of the hilt, though, is a glowing stone that’s a smoky, opaque green.

“The jade is what channels the enchantment, but the entire sword’s got magic in it,” Saeko tells Iwaizumi as she approaches. “Thought it’d be a nice aesthetic touch. It’s one of the heaviest swords I’ve made, but I doubt that’ll matter for you”

Iwaizumi takes the swords from her, balancing it between both palms. Hinata watches his face, the furrow of his brows as he shifts it into his right hand and holds it parallel with his arm. “You thought right,” he murmurs, somewhat gruffly. He cuts through the air a few times, the movements controlled and simple despite the sheer size of the weapon. Looking back towards Saeko, he cracks a small smile, nodding curtly. “I’ll have to train tonight to test, but I don’t doubt it’ll be the best of your work.”

Saeko scoffs, hands resting on her hips. “Of course it’ll be. Spent six months on the damn thing, least you can do is kill a few creatures with it.”

Hinata leans against the wall, watching as the three discuss the sword in greater detail. Alisa and Saeko manage to jest enough to break Iwaizumi’s short replies into longer stretches. Hinata, an outsider to it all, lingers, so unsure what his place is, so far from home and so adrift from any kind of goal.

“Hinata,” Iwaizumi says, snapping him from his thoughts. His forehead has wrinkled, and Hinata wishes it would smooth out again. “You blanked there for a moment. Do you need anything while we’re here?”

“Nope!” Hinata squeaks. “We should just head back, and, um, plan what’s next. Ah— thank you for the staff, Saeko! I never got to say it, and I really do love it, uh—”

“It’s no problem,” Saeko laughs. “You two get going, I’ll steal Alisa away.”

With that, Iwaizumi straps his sword in the holster on his back, and the two head back out into the bustling streets. The midday sun shines high and bright above their heads, big puffy clouds drifting so lazily, casting shadows all over the crowds. Hinata isn’t sure what to say, where to go, what to _do._  Iwaizumi carries himself with the grace of a dancer and the strength and courage of a wild animal, lines blurring between gruff-set jaw and kind eyes, between a knight’s duty to serve and the sheer strength Hinata _knows_ he posses. It dizzies him to worry, churns his stomach like spring watershed.

It strikes Hinata then, as Iwaizumi once again takes the lead, how little he knows of Senshi, of _Seishun_ beyond his small town. He can name two other cities and knows stories, but there’s a certain kind of loop he seems left out of by virtue of isolation. The fear of not knowing irks him, the fear of being _outsider_ unrests words from his throat.

“Um, I know the roads along the East River are really bad, but are there other issues you know about?” Hinata asks. “I mean, I know you just busted those monsters! But, there’s gotta be things around the country that are wrong, and, y’know…” His voice dies down again, and Hinata’s eyes flick to his feet. “I’m new to this.”

“It’s not a crime to be new to it,” Iwaizumi tells him, looking back over his shoulder to meet his eyes. He slows his pace so that they walk side by side, and keeps his gaze fixed on Hinata. “There’s much that is wrong— the Dark Mage’s monsters are running rampant, famine is ripping through the farmlands, the cult of Dark Mage worshippers is growing— it’s just where to start that’s a problem.” Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose. “Daishou is too blinded by his own grief to see that killing the Dark Mage shouldn’t be your— our— goal.”

Hinata sighs in relief, despite the lingering air of confusion at Iwaizumi’s defiance to his king. “It felt wrong for it to be something like that in the first place, but that’s just my intuition,” Hinata says. “What makes you think that?”

Iwaizumi finally looks away, those electric eyes gone from sight. He’s silent for a few passing beats, until they manage to reach a side street with less passerbys. “Have you heard of the Dark Mage being _seen_?” Iwaizumi asks him. Hinata shakes his head— he hasn’t heard anything more than creatures of his creation. “Exactly. It’s not like him to come out into the open or fall into a trap or lure. He doesn’t want to cause chaos himself, it seems. He’s pulling at the strings.”

Hinata blinks in surprise at the logic of his thinking. “Gah, you’re really observant,” Hinata tells him, shaking his head. “You put that all together yourself?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Yeah. Kageyama— the lead tactician— confirmed that there haven’t been any definitive sightings of the Dark Mage in years.”

In his mind’s eye, Hinata pictures the boy curled against the cold cobblestone floor, hands bruises and bloodied from _something,_  aching and _tired._  He pictures the darkness burning around him and fear mixed with rage in his eyes, as if that purple fire were venomous tears that slipped down his face. The Hinata’s chest lurches, and he almost moves with it. Iwaizumi either doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything, leaving Hinata in silence with thoughts that run on loop.

They reach the grand staircase to the palace within the next minute, climb it together with their footsteps as steady as the pitter-patter of rain. The knights are the only ones who gawk at them, and they only do so out of the corners of their eyes, when they assume they aren’t looking. Word must have kept from spreading from outside the castle. Hinata doesn’t think the secret will last long— he’s not hard to miss, with bright orange hair and a wooden staff and a hat that counts for a good chunk of his height.

There’s someone waiting at the entrance of the main foyer. Hinata only notices because of the red mess on his head— he’s suited in full armor, and yet his hair sticks straight up. When they enter, he whips his head around, and Hinata remembers him as the strange knight that was in the throne room.

“Aye, Iwa!” he shouts, waving an arm in the air. “White Mage! Hello hello! A moment of your time?”

“Ah— um, okay. And you can just call me Hinata,” Hinata tells him nervously, hands fidgeting with the trim of his shirt, already walking over. Iwaizumi isn’t far behind.

“Hinata, meet Tendou. Tendou, meet Hinata,” Iwaizumi says, gesturing between the two of them. He turns to fully look at Tendou, eyeing him cautiously. “Is there something you wanted?”

Tendou grins, his mouth widening while his eyes remain the same, half lidded indifference. _Unsettling,_  Hinata thinks.

“Ah, no pleasantries? It’s alright, I know you're serious,” he jests. “But really, it’s _kind of_ a big favour. We can order tea and talk about it?”

“You shouldn’t order tea on duty,” Iwaizumi says, somewhat exasperated. Hinata has to stifle a giggle.

“But Hinata here can order tea and by extension order _us_ tea! There, solved,” Tendou says, clapping his hands together and tilting his head to the side with a wide grin. “What do ya say?”

Hinata looks to Iwaizumi, who only meets him with an expression of curiosity he’s come to recognize. Narrowed eyes, straight mouth.

“Uh… sure! I don’t really, um, know how to do that or where to go to do that, though,” Hinata tells him.

“Then I’ll lead the way!”

With that, Tendou leads them up to the second floor and into an empty room. There’s an enormous oak desk in the corner and billowing scarlet curtains that dance in the wind of the open windows, but Hinata pays them no mind, already plopping down into one of the plush little chairs to hear what Tendou has to say. His jesting eyes have lost their sheen, and all teasing tone vanishes as he leans against the wall.

“I know you have a goal, but… there’s a stop I’d really, _really_ appreciate you make along the way to whatever you’re doing,” Tendou says, entwining his hands together. “My home village.”

“Geh? Do they have a monster problem too?” Hinata asks.

“Everywhere has a monster problem,” Iwaizumi says, lips still pulled tight. “Tendou, if that’s the case, you should just apply for a royal dispatch of the Order to deal with it.”

Tendou smiles wryly, squinting one eye. “Ah, but it isn’t,” he tells him. “It’s a farming village, one of the main suppliers of rice for Senshi, and there’s been some kind of famine sapping life outta the crops _and_ the people.” He leans forwards, lowering his voice as if to tell a secret. “And according to the rumours my good friend Wakatoshi has heard, it’s a curse set by The Dark Mage.”

“Another curse…” Hinata mumbles, looking down at his hands. He thinks of the curse Daishou had on him, so overbearing and tangled it was overwhelming. He thinks of how this is just a village, how chances are it probably isn’t as bad. He swallows heavily, clenching his fists before nodding. “I’ll see what I can do about it. I-I’ll do my best! Worse comes to worse, you should report it and probably evacuate to protect the villagers, right?”

“Right,” Iwaizumi agrees, looking back to Hinata. “It’s your call if we go. Any plan is better than none, in my opinion.”

Tendou lights up, grin plastered on his face. _"_ _And_ if you go now, King Daishou will think you’re all put together and ready to go,” he says. “This’ll give you some kind of lead, won’t it?

Hinata freezes, realizing the choice lays on his shoulders. It’s true what they both say— he hasn’t got a clue where to start, nor the knowledge of Senshi to get his bearings alone. At the very least, he’ll be _helping_ people, saving a town from a life of poverty and sickness. In the back of his mind, the failure to mend the king’s curse looms, alongside the imagery of melted webs, of dark magic so strong it festers.

 _If I don’t go, I’ll never help,_ Hinata tells himself, strengthening his resolve as he looks up.

“Then that’ll be our first stop,” Hinata says, meeting Tendou’s eyes. They look relieved, joyful once again. “Ah, where is it? And do you have a map?”

Tendou shoots up, turning to one of the bookshelves. “We’re in the _castle,_ there’s probably a map in every room.” He then opens a few random books, searching through the spines for a few moments before taking one down from the top. “Aha! This one looks both recent and somewhat trustworthy.” With that, he flips it open to the back cover, pulling a detailed map of the country from a fold in the paper.

Hinata gathers closer alongside Iwaizumi, the three pouring over the map. It’s by far the most recent one Hinata’s seen in awhile, spanning the entire length of the nation, from the capital, marked in bold, across the mountain ranges, the desert, and even the white north.

“So the village, Shiratori, is northwest of us a two day’s ride,” Tendou tells them, pointing one bandaged finger to the capitals marker. “You’re best to take the trail, but you _could,_  hypothetically, cut through the forest here.” Making an indent with his nail, he highlights a line that cuts off a curve of the main road. “You’d gain half a day or so, depending on if you camp or not. Not sure if it’s the best idea, what with all the monsters, but you’re probably the most capable people in the country, so you should be fine.”

“Geh?!” Hinata shouts, at the exact time Iwaizumi sighs.

“That’s no reason for us to take risks. We’ll see when we get there,” Iwaizumi tells him, crossing his arms.

“Great! Then take the map with you—I doubt anyone here will miss it,” Tendou says. His half lidded eyes soften for a moment, smile becoming less wide and more gentle. “And… thank you.”

That takes Hinata by surprise, makes him blink at Tendou’s sincerity. Of course, it doesn’t last long, that creepy half-eyed smile returning to stretch across his face.

Turning towards the window, Hinata smiles. He hasn’t been in Senshi for more than a few days, hasn’t seen even a portion of what it has to offer, and yet the prospect of moving once again excites him in ways he could’ve never imagined. This is what he wants to do— to _help,_  to not kill a phantom of his dreams, but extend a hand to those underneath the rubble. In the part of him that thinks too much, that worries, he wonders if King Daishou would reprimand him for the actions he takes. Yet, the command of _do not bow to me_ echoes in his mind, the strangest kind of respect Hinata has ever seen.

 _Who am I if I don’t even bow to the king?_ Hinata asks himself. Behind him, Tendou and Iwaizumi discuss something technical, Iwaizumi’s responses curt and to the point. Outside, the wind picks up, rustling all the trees below. And in that moment, Hinata lets his eyes close, feels the magic under his skin, and smiles.

He’s the White Mage. This isn’t some kind of order— it’s _destiny._

—

Iwaizumi isn’t one to wait around— proposing they leave before dark and get headway while they can. It isn’t like Hinata has much to pack up, but there’s no doubt Iwaizumi will have things he’ll need to get in order before leaving. Though, he hasn’t even been back for that long— they met up at the end of one of his excursions, after all. Either way, they regroup with a much sturdier looking carriage at the base of the castle’s enormous staircase, bags piled in the back alongside food rations for the two of them. Hinata makes sure to give a letter to someone in the castle to deliver back to his family— he doesn’t have any doubt it’ll get there, not when there’s so much else to think about.

“I’ll steer for the first leg, or at least until we’ve navigated out of the city,” Iwaizumi tells him, one leg propped up on the carriage. His new sword lies in the holster at his hip, and his armor shines in the sunlight of the clear sky. Hinata watches as he tilts his head up, jawline sharp as his chin angles higher, the line tracing down his neck. Hinata cheeks heat up— he can’t help but stare. His forehead furrows, brows pull together, the expression of curiosity becoming one Hinata’s already somewhat fond of. It isn’t until the world around him darkens and people begin to point that Hinata follows his gaze.

The creature that soars above the town is massive in size, enough so that the entire city becomes shadowed. Hinata blinks, cranes his neck, and nearly stumbles as it approaches overhead, six appendages— three on each side- that almost seem like fins combing lazily through the air. Squinting, he tries to get a closer look— as it moves, he catches sight of a tail, a wide, closed mouth, and a thick rounded belly.

“The Skyshark,” Hinata says, grin spreading across his face. “That's— that’s the Skyshark!”

The belly of the shark is now directly above them, intricate swirling patterns adorning it’s skin— dark, midnight blue mixed in with a soft blue that glows faintly in the dimmed light. It hums and the noise vibrates the entire ground in its tenor. Hinata can’t bring himself to say much of anything. All around him, people speak, but his mind is silent, filled only with awe for a creature of such sheer magnitude that looks so close despite being so far away. Kiyoko had said it was rarely seen, said it made its home way high up in the heavens, but here it is, spinning in lazy barrels, drifting up and along.

It floats through the air with ease, hovering above the city for a few moments as if to indulge the stares of the masses. Everything inside of Hinata swells, surreality too much to believe if he weren’t standing where he was now. The sky shark turns right side up and continues to move, the action sending a gust of wind through the streets. Hinata clutches onto his hat as he staggers, still smiling as it begins to float higher and higher, drifting farther into the horizon and the clouds.

When it becomes no more than a blip in the sky, Hinata turns to Iwaizumi, reeling from the sight. Iwaizumi’s doesn’t share the same amazement as the rest, but his eyes are still wide, the workings of a smile pulling on his lips.

“I haven’t seen the Skyshark in a very long time,” he says, voice low and rough, barely audible over the shouts and laughter of the surrounding crowd. Hinata heard it though, catches Iwaizumi’s eye as he looks at him through his peripherals, his chin still turned to the sky.

“You’ve seen it before?” Hinata whispers, inching closer. “When?”

Iwaizumi lets out a long breath, crossing his arms. His fingers tap against his arm, his face contorted in indecisiveness. Eventually, he lets his shoulders drop, coming to some kind of conclusion. “When I was much younger,” he answers, voice lilting in a more nostalgic tone. “It’s no less amazing the second time around.” Finally, he tears his eyes from the sky, pulling himself fully onto the driving ledge of the carriage. “C’mon, we should take advantage of the commotion to leave without making a scene.”

“O-oh! Okay!” Hinata says, jumping into the back of the carriage.

With that, they set off, towards the edge of the wide-eyed city, where the forest thickens and the rest of the world awaits. Hinata sits back, and watches the back of Iwaizumi’s head through the window. There’s so much he’s yet to learn, so much more he needs to know. It’s clear he’s only seen a tiny dot of the world, that his own country is still a stranger to him. Yet, on the winding road travelling further and further from what he knows, he couldn’t feel more at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments help with motivation! you can follow me on twitter (@mookzymooks) and/or kj (@spacegaykj) for fic updates and the occasional vague livetweeting as we write!


	4. blooming in vigour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *breakdances gently* ITS FINALLY HERE AND WE FINALLY MOVE ONTO THE PLOT!!  
> ok so we're going to TRY and shoot for bi-weekly updates but what with school and everything we're unsure 100% how that would work out and if we'd be able to do it but we will do our best.  
> \--  
> hey it's kj!!!! this chapter has some scenes im incredibly proud of and i speak for both me and mooks that we are HYPED for yall to read it!!!!

Hinata is not one for silence. He fills long stretches with ambient noise, talks to strangers rather than standing alone, drums his fingers against any surface if the lack of sound becomes too much to bear. It makes it surprising that what he learns of Iwaizumi is done just by observing.

Iwaizumi isn’t one to talk much. Granted, Hinata has no idea how to broach conversation with him when he’s in a good mood, and he’s less than willing to bite the bullet and risk annoying him. Hinata hopes Iwaizumi isn’t the easily annoyed type, hopes he doesn’t become a thorn in his side or something that holds him back. He waits for Iwaizumi to speak up before talking, but unlucky for him, Iwaizumi doesn’t seem keen on starting conversation either.

He also isn’t one for sleep, it seems. Hinata takes a nap in the late evening and wakes up to the dark, with Iwaizumi still driving, legs crossed and leaning back against the carriage. They’ve switched twice already, but Hinata can’t help but feel guilty for making him drive for so long. With a yawn, he stretches his arm above his head, summoning a small ball of light to his hand. It fills the dark carriage with white light, casting shadows across each wall and illuminating Iwaizumi’s back. At the sudden light, he looks over his shoulder towards Hinata.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Iwaizumi says as Hinata blushes, hoping his light doesn’t make his embarrassed flush visible.

“Er, how long have I slept?” Hinata asks, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Four hours, I’d say. We should make camp soon— the horse needs feed and water and you need rest.”

“So do you,” Hinata adds. “And food. D’you know where a good place to make camp would be?

Iwaizumi turns, looking at the path ahead. “There looks to be a clearing ahead. We can stop there and stay until morning.”

Hinata considers asking how Iwaizumi can see so far without much light, but holds his tongue, nodding instead. The clearing isn’t much more than a patch of ground without trees, but it’s large enough to house their carriage, with a soft patch of grass and a sturdy oak to tether the horse to. Hinata keeps his light in one hand as he hops out of the carriage once stopped, busying himself with finding dried logs and sticks to use as kindling for a fire. He makes sure never to lose sight of the carriage, focusing on the task at hand rather than the depths of the dark forest. When he returns with an armful of sticks, Iwaizumi has removed the horse’s bridle and tied a loose tether to the tree.

Hinata piles the wood a good ways away from the carriage and sparks a flame on top of it, staying by it until the fire grows steady. With a sigh, he drops his arms to his side, looking over towards where Iwaizumi stands with the horse. Giving him a tentative smile, he motions with one hand for him to come closer towards the fire. Iwaizumi obliges, taking a seat close to the flame.

 _Should I say something?_ Hinata wonders. _I should say something._

Iwaizumi leans back onto his hands, legs crossing haphazardly near the fire’s hearth. He seems unfazed— some sort of rigidity loosened, a kind of poise Hinata wasn’t even aware he was upholding. His warm eyes flicker up to look at him, the fire making the iris look like molten amber in that moment. The intensity of the stare is a little much to handle, and Hinata is resigned to looking away and grabbing some of the rations Iwaizumi had set out. Pushing the canister towards Iwaizumi, he plops down across from him, swallowing his intimidation.

“Have, uh, you been out this way before?” Hinata asks, nerves twisting his gut in knots, He shoves a piece of bread into his mouth as he wait for Iwaizumi’s reply, trying not to look him directly in the eye. It’s easier said than done— everything Iwaizumi does seems to command his attention, even in its softness. Iwaizumi peels his orange and tosses the peel into the flame, discarding his gloves before he responds.

“I’ve travelled across most of the country,” he tells him. “Passed by most forts and cities, though. The landscape is more familiar for me.”

“Oh! Right, because you used to live in the forest,” Hinata remembers, mutters to himself before swallowing the rest of his food. “I forget how big Seishun is. I assumed it was endless forest for awhile.”

That earns a slight chuckle from Iwaizumi. “Hardly. The mountain range is huge, and on the opposite side there’s only evergreens. It’s too cold for much else.” Iwaizumi tears off a piece of his orange. “And then there’s the desert.”

“Have you been?” Hinata asks, leaning forwards, trying not to choke on his food in haste.

Iwaizumi nods. “Yeah, a while ago. I like the heat, but it gets a bit oppressive.”

With a gentle sigh, Hinata smiles. “You sure get around.”

“Usually on my own, though,” Iwaizumi says, looking up at Hinata. “Travelling with company is different.”

“Less lonely?” Hinata asks, before instantly berating himself for even asking such a question. Iwaizumi isn’t fazed, simply shrugging and resting an elbow on his knee.

“Yeah… less time in my head,” Iwaizumi says, voice quieter this time, more thoughtful.

“Is that a bad thing?” Hinata asks cautiously, slowly.

Iwaizumi rests his head on his palm, staring at the fire as he thinks. “Hm… Not bad. Just different.”

Hinata lets his shoulders drop, relief flooding him at the aspect that he isn’t bothering or annoying Iwaizumi like he originally thought. They finish the rest of their rations in minutes, the silence kept mostly from fatigue rather than awkwardness. Iwaizumi’s stern aura calls for respect, but Hinata doesn’t feel unequal in his presence. Intimidated, sure, a little nervous, of course, but never less than. Maybe, he figures, it’s the blunt way of speech, the gruff attitude mixed with a curious tendency to care.

Hinata rubs his eyes and yawns. Or perhaps he’s in need of a proper rest without movement.

As if sensing his exhaustion, Iwaizumi looks up from the fire, back over to meet Hinata’s eyes. “You need rest. I’ll take the first watch. We can both rest once dawn starts to break— by then the most of the danger will have passed,” he tells him, already beginning to stand.

“Wait, wait. I slept earlier though,” Hinata argues, pulling himself up only to stumble. In response, Iwaizumi raises a single brow, face bemused but still firm in his stance. Eventually, Hinata’s left with the only choice being to give in, heading towards the carriage to get some shuteye.

“Sleep well,” Iwaizumi calls after him from his spot against the tree, up against their already sleeping horse. “May you find crystal in your rest.”

The words roll of his tongue in pieces, held together by honey but separate in their own. If he were more awake, Hinata would ask for a meaning, would question further or retort, but in his exhaustion, he only smiles and waves, pulling himself back into the carriage with a lingering warmth in his chest.

—

The switch at night wasn’t for long, and in honesty, Hinata hardly remembers it. He remembers a hand on his shoulder, a whispered voice, Iwaizumi without his armor and his royal cloak pulled over his shoulders. The fire was still running, and Hinata spent most of his watch playing with sparks from his fingertips and making pictures dance in the flame.

In what feels only like minutes after, Iwaizumi returns, the sky only hinting at daylight, deep black fading to a navy jewel. They both cozy up in the back of the carriage, fire put out, a few more hours left of their resting. There’s more than enough space for the two of them, and sleep captures Hinata before he can even wish Iwaizumi a good morning.

The next wake is not nearly half as peaceful as the one before. It’s jarring— the spine bending scratch of stone on stone, the echoing melody of wind chimes in still air, and the sound of a cord pulled taunt in a _snap,_  a loud whiny and the gallop of retreating hooves. Iwaizumi shoots upwards two beats before Hinata does, sword at the ready as he throws himself from the carriage. Hinata is quick to follow, staff held in one hand as their backs press together, both circling as they look for whatever was the cause of the sound.

Neither speak, neither breathe, both sworn to quiet as they wait for any indicator of what’s to come.

The chimes sound again, endlessly echoing through the forest foliage. The birds take off from the trees, leaving leaves rustled in their wake, an eerie silence setting in as the scratching begins to sound more akin to a crunch of heavy weight on underbrush, of logs snapping under foot. Hinata begins to pulse a small shield around them, the energy pulsating as the chimes become clearer, the sound more crisp and the scratches much too close for comfort. Out of the corner of Hinata’s eye, he sees green, and feels Iwaizumi lean forwards onto the balls of his feet. The swift _whomp_ of trees snapping back into place is all the warning they receive before they come face to face with the first monster of their journey.

It hardly seems like a monster at all, appearing more to be a half finished sculpture carved out of a loose piece of granite from a cliff. However, the monster is easily fifteen feet tall and solid stone, is moving without difficulty with black magic swirling at each joint, so Hinata doesn’t doubt its intent to kill them even before it swings a massive stone arm down towards their head.

Hinata’s shield buys them enough time to jump out of the way, Iwaizumi skidding across the grass with his sword outstretched. Now that they’re across from each other, Hinata can see the source of the green— jade scales that creep all along Iwaizumi’s arms and neck, tapering off at his face. Dragon scales, he guesses, one of the toughest hides known. The hands that clutch his sword are different now, nails elongated, sharp and claw-like. When Iwaizumi jumps forwards, he does so with ease, drives his sword between the joint connecting the creature’s arm to its body and bounces off its chest when it cuts clean through.

“It must be bonded with dark magic,” Iwaizumi calls to Hinata, already sheathing his sword. He sends a glance back to him. “Can you dispel any of it?”

Hinata is snapped out of his daze by the glare as he darts under the creature’s arm, moving closer to Iwaizumi and out of its reach. “I can try, b-but I won’t be able to do much if it's trying to clobber me!”

Iwaizumi nods at that and rushes the creature again, this time with only his bare hands. He dashes between its stone legs as it thrashes, the scraping sound deafening when mixed with the eerie chime it seems to produce, but Iwaizumi pays it no mind. He kicks out one of the legs with enough force to split the rock clean in two, giving Hinata the time he needs to close his eyes and channel the Fog. The magic at his fingertips buzzes, courses through the staff until every inch of his body feels electrified.

“Ready?” Iwaizumi shouts, rolling out of the way of one of the creature’s stone fists. He punches its side in retaliation, his fist going right through the rock and breaking off a good chunk of it.

Snapping his eyes open, Hinata raises his staff, forcing the magic to shape into a phantom blade in front of him. With a swing of his staff, he sends out a slice of magic and severs the bond of dark magic between one of the arms and watches it fall to the ground, no more than another useless stone.

“Watch out!” Hinata calls, swinging the blade back around. It lands in the torso of the creature, not splitting the rock but sending it backwards with enough force that it topples to the ground. Iwaizumi slides out from underneath it just as it lands with a thud, just as Hinata surges forwards and swipes his staff across his body, cutting a clean slice through the inky bond at its head. With one land ear splitting screech the bonds dissipate, fizzing out into nothingness around them.

It takes Hinata a few moments to drop the spell, a few more to holds his staff lax at his side. By the time he’s come to his senses, Iwaizumi is already standing, dusting off his cloak, somehow immune to the adrenaline of fighting that rushes through Hinata’s bloodstream. Dizzy more from the rush than the magic itself, Hinata sighs in elation, looking over towards Iwaizumi with a relieved smile. Iwaizumi has yet to drop his scales, the green still coating him from the neck down, his nails still hooked, and his eyes still set. Hinata couldn’t stop himself from staring in awe if he tried.

“That was so _cool!”_ he exclaims, jumping up and down. “The stone guy went to smash and you just rushed him, and then you punched through his leg? And— and—”

At his rambling, Iwaizumi whips around to face Hinata, eyebrows knitted together in confusion at Hinata’s excitement. The scales fade back into his usual brown skin, his nails returning to their usual somewhat-human length as he stares Hinata down.

“—then you slid and I did the thing! Not to mention you grew such cool scales— just— wow,” Hinata finishes, out of breath from his ramble. “I knew you were strong, but… “ he shakes his head. “That was amazing!”

Iwaizumi blinks, hard, in surprise, arms that were folded over his chest dropping to his side. “Thank— thank you?” he responds, voice tentative yet firm. “It’s my job to protect.” Looking around at the damage, he sighs, gnawing on his cheek. “The horse ran off, though. We won’t have any way to haul the carriage the rest of the way.”

Hinata’s morale instantly drops along with his posture. Whirling around to look at their abandoned carriage, he surveys the damage— almost none, save a scrape on the side and no horse to drive it.

“Okay,” Hinata wonders aloud. “How do we fix this?”

“We walk,” Iwaizumi responds, already moving to collect their things. “Hitchhike, if we have to.”

Hinata follows after him, catching his bag when Iwaizumi tosses it to him. “Didn’t Tendou mention some kinda shortcut? Have we passed it already?”

Iwaizumi pauses, turning back to face him. Wordlessly, he pulls the map out of his pocket, folding it so that their location is centre. Hinata leans in closer in anticipation as he squints, face indiscernible to an outsider.

“It’s half a mile ahead,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Tendou was underestimating— it’ll cut more than half a day off.” He pockets the map, looking up towards Hinata. “Are you okay with travelling through the forest?”

“It’s what’s quickest, isn’t it?” Hinata asks. “We shouldn’t waste any time. And I think we should be able to handle ourselves.”

With a curt nod, Iwaizumi resumes his task of putting back on his armor, Hinata focusing on making sure they leave nothing behind save the useless shell of a carriage.

The shortcut’s trail doesn’t look inviting, but it doesn’t seem any more dangerous than the main trail. The canopy of trees leave thin strips of light falling through, shadows casted cool and heavy on the trail. It’s comforting in the heat of the summer. Hinata takes the darkness in stride and cherishes how it leaves his skin pleasantly cool, how the low light casts faded glows through leaves. It patterns Iwaizumi’s face in a gradient of colour, from deep shadow to bright light, flecking over his face. Hinata doesn’t want to seem as if he’s gawking, and quickly darts his eyes away.

“So…” Hinata says, grasping for conversation as twigs snap underfoot. He could ask about so much— questions of Iwaizumi’s dragon blood have swarmed his head since Alisa first told him of the rumor. But would asking such a thing be too personal? An intrusion of privacy? He bit his lip in thought before deciding on asking something more safe. “How long have you been a knight?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond for a few moments, mulling over his words. “I was inoculated roughly six years ago, but I was training years before then,” he tells him.

“Eh? But you must’ve been so young!” Hinata exclaims, jogging forwards to walk in front of Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi blinks, pausing a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “I’m still young,” he says, answer blunt without being curt. It does nothing to deter Hinata’s enthusiasm and curiosity as he cuts across Iwaizumi to walk on his other side.

“Everyone in the Royal Order is young,” Hinata muses. “I mean, Alisa can’t be older than twenty, right? I don’t think I’ve _seen_ a knight or guard that is old— not that I’ve seen many knights at all.”

“It wasn’t an exaggeration,” Iwaizumi tells him, voice gruff, stiffened. “The Royal Army was wiped out entirely. We’ve been building from scratch since.”

Hinata places his hands over his mouth, a seed of dread and guilt sprouting in his stomach. “Oh gods, I shouldn’t have said that— I— I’m sorry,” he stammers, face heating.

Iwaizumi places a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to apologize.” He squeezes reassuringly, calming Hinata’s rapid heartbeat enough that he can pull his hands from his face and smile weakly once more.

They continue on like that for another few miles, conversation ebbing on a line of considerate questions, trying not to break boundaries in such a fresh relationship. They rarely stop, only ever to rest their feet or eyes. The other keeps close watch in those moments, not wanting a repeat of the earlier morning. Whatever noise they makes scares off any creatures lurking in the woods, and with Hinata’s lessons of magical plants from Kiyoko and Iwaizumi’s general forest knowledge, the two gather a good harvest of berries to eat as they go.

It’s when the forest turns to meadows that the peace is broken. Iwaizumi stops dead in his tracks while Hinata continues forwards, a spring in his step, not noticing that Iwaizumi had paused until the lack of footsteps is obvious. Twirling around, he follows Iwaizumi’s gaze to look towards a patch of dead grass at the bank of a creek. Wrinkling his nose, Hinata jogs back over, struggling to see what’s wrong until he spots a single, thick stemmed flower, purple petals flecked with gold contorted and waving in the wind. The centre is spherical, the middle stretched wide into something resembling a mouth.

“What is _this_ doing out here...” Iwaizumi wonders aloud, taking a few steps into the tall grass.

“What, the flower?” Hinata asks, trailing after him. “It’s weird that it’s survived while the grass around it hasn’t, isn’t it?”

“It’s surviving _because_ the grass is dead. It’s sapping up all the Fog nearby. The grass can’t live without it,” Iwaizumi tells him. “It’s a weird kind of magic— they’re not usually in these sorts of areas though. Might as well deal with it while we’re here.”

“Deal with it?” Hinata asks, crouching down beside the flower. He contemplates touching the petals, and decides against it, the mouth a little more daunting than he’d like. “What’ll it do if we don’t?”

Iwaizumi pulls a dagger from his waist, kneeling down next to Hinata. “Untamed, it’ll suck up the rest of the surrounding Fog and grow bigger and bigger until… well, until something else gets it.”

“O— Oh,” Hinata responds with a gulp, scooching back.

Iwaizumi smirks at that, reaching forwards to grasp the stalk of the flower. “The trick is to cut it right under the bud. If any part of the head is intact, it’ll just grow back,” he says, dagger pressing into the bud. Just as the blade begins to cut through, the mouth opens, a high pitched hiss ringing through the meadow as Iwaizumi pops the head clean off. It lands in the water, already beginning to shrivel and wilt until plum petals turn an ashy shade of grey. Hinata watches as the stalk curls up on itself, until finally it’s nothing more than a pile of ash. Something in Hinata’s stomach tightens as the wind blows away the remnants of the plant, carrying them off into the distant reaches of the meadow.

“C’mon, we should get going if we want to arrive by nightfall,” Iwaizumi says, already headed towards the path. Hinata nods, leaving the petals behind to decay in its circle of death as he joins Iwaizumi on their journey towards the village.

Somewhere, a flower wails, and another shoot sprouts up from the depths.

—

The air seems to get thinner as they approach Shiratori village. Hinata’s steps become lethargic, legs heavy from use as the farmlands come into view. True to Tendou’s description, the lands are almost barren— rice fields only surviving in small patches, orchard trees gnarled and empty. It leaves a bitter taste in Hinata’s mouth, and in Iwaizumi’s too. They pass along a flask of fresh water as the road grows wider and the foliage more and more bleak. Hinata has never felt less at home than he does now, no trees in sight, decay as far as the eye can see. It doesn’t help that his heart seems intent on palpitating as he walks, breaths growing shorter, lips growing drier. His head pounds and his bones ache in a way far from pleasant or familiar.

“You can lean on me if you’re not feeling well,” Iwaizumi says, cutting through the cotton in Hinata’s ears. He didn’t notice the other’s concern, how his brow knitted together as Hinata lagged behind. “We’re not far from the town now. You can rest up and get some sustenance once we’re there.”

Hinata mumbles a reply, words escaping him as he leans onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. His arm moves to wrap around Hinata’s shoulder,  propping him upright. Though too exhausted to be embarrassed, Hinata still feels gratitude at his kindness, the crutch enough to keep them moving along the road at a steady pace. Even with Iwaizumi’s help, his legs continue to grow heavy, each step weighted and each breath taken through a thin straw. By the time they reach the edge of the village, Hinata collapses, onto his knees, world spinning all around him. The last thing he remembers is his name being shouted out as the wooden houses fade to black.

—

Iwaizumi would be lying if he said he was feeling his best. A sense of unease and fatigue washed over him from the time they set foot into the borders of Shiratori, but it can’t be compared to Hinata, driven to the point of fainting. Iwaizumi check his pulse— steady— before scooping him up on his arms, careful to make sure his head doesn’t jostle while slack. Gritting his teeth, he makes his way into the square, well aware of the eyes that have already started to flicker his way.

He approaches the person closest to him— a boy with bluntly chopped black hair and wide eyes. His back visibly straightens as he grows near. “Y— yes?!” the boy near shouts.

“Do you have a healer?” Iwaizumi asks, bypassing any qualms of his identity. “Tendou Satori sent me, I’m—”

“A knight!” the boy exclaims, already headed down the street. “Yes— come with me!”

Iwaizumi moves in stride, shifting Hinata so that his head can rest on his neck. “Tendou mentioned someone named Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi tells the boy as they weave through group of people that have begun to stare.

At the name, the boy’s eyes widen even further, lighting up. “Ushijima! Yes, I’ll call for him— my house is this way. There’s no healers here, but I have a medic’s kit!”

Iwaizumi nods, following him into a modest home with shutters drawn wide and flowers bustling on the sills while musing over the strangeness of a town without a single magic user. His mind is quickly preoccupied as the boy clears a space on the couch for Hinata to lie on. Still unconscious, Iwaizumi makes sure he’s in a somewhat comfortable position before turning back to face the boy who had brought him there. He’s pushed their bags aside, already rummaging through his kitchen to pull out a small box, white paint chipping off of the edges.

“He’s running pretty warm. If you have a cold cloth, that may help,” Iwaizumi tells the boy. “I’m Iwaizumi, First Knight of the Royal Order. Hinata is the one on your couch.”

The boy’s hands freeze. He slowly looks up, jaw dropped in wonder. “Hinata as in… Hinata _Shouyou?_ The White Mage?” he exclaims.

Iwaizumi lets out a sigh of slight frustration, impatience and concern prickling him underneath his skin. “Yes, and he needs a cold cloth,” he reminds him.

“Right!” the boy exclaims, shutting the unnecessary medic’s kit. “I’m Goshiki, by the way!”

Iwaizumi turns back to Hinata, gently removing his cape from his shoulder. The material is heavy, but doesn’t feel as if it were causing him to overheat. Folding it into a makeshift pillow, he tucks it underneath Hinata’s head, pushing his hair from his forehead to feel for a temperature. Iwaizumi’s body temperature is a fickle thing, and he’s never been good at judging the fever points of others, but just by observing the red hue of Hinata’s face he can tell that he’s unwell. Pulling away his hand, Iwaizumi bites his lip, pointed teeth digging into the flesh in worry. He’s halfway to shouting for the boy— Goshiki— to hurry up when he hears footsteps padding up behind him. Iwaizumi doesn't bother turning around, only outstretching a hand for Goshiki to place the cloth into.

Iwaizumi squeezes the water from the cloth and lets it run down Hinata’s cheeks and neck, patting the cloth into his chest before laying it across his forehead. Even with the steady rise and fall of Hinata's chest, Iwaizumi can’t help but be concerned. Not everyone has the tolerance for long days spent walking, he’s well aware, but Hinata has already shown to be fine with it when they made their way into Senshi. Whatever had caused him to become so weak eludes him, only increasing his apprehension.

“Goshiki,” Iwaizumi calls, not moving from Hinata's side. “Could you fetch Ushijima? I have questions about this town.”

He can almost hear Goshiki scramble to straighten his back. “Yes! Yes of course— I won’t be long!”

With that, he leaves them be, hastily taken steps echoing through the small home. If it were any other situation, Iwaizumi would’ve been upset at the lack of consideration at Hinata’s state, but he gives Goshiki a break seeing as Hinata is fainted more than sleeping.

Suddenly, Hinata shifts, face bunching up as he begins to shift. _A nightmare?_ Iwaizumi wonders. The urge to wake Hinata becomes greater as the moment goes on, but luckily he doesn't have to choose whether or not to disturb him. Hinata’s eyes begin to flutter open, if only a fraction, lips ghosting over words unheard.

“I-Iwaizumi…? What— what happened?” he asks, voice grated and rough.

“You fainted,” Iwaizumi tells him, doing his best to keep his voice quiet. “A… friend of Ushijima’s took us in for now. I’ll find out more details, but for now you should rest.”

Hinata hums, closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “M'gonna sleep.”

Iwaizumi lets himself smile, even if Hinata won’t see. “Okay, you do that.” He watches as Hinata’s face grows more and more lax. Soon, he melts completely into sleep, Iwaizumi finally content to leave his side to explore his surroundings.

The house is a bit drab, to say the least. The living room isn’t too big, with just a table, a bookshelf sitting against the far wall, and the couch that Hinata’s sleeping on. There are a few plants, if you could even call them that, sitting in pits on the windowsill that looks out towards the street. The plants have long since wilted, dreary and brown. The sky has grown cloudy since their arrival, and with the little light provided in the house, the atmosphere becomes all that more terse. The bookshelf, while standing tall and proud, has long since suffered wear, chipped and worn so that the glossy finish now seems dull.

True to his words, Goshiki arrives not too long after Hinata fell back asleep. With him is another man, standing tall and stoic, worn coveralls dirtied with soil and damp at the knees. His expression is difficult to read, even for Iwaizumi, who can usually figure people out rather quickly. Instead, he’s left standing in front of the man he can only assume is Ushijima, bowing his head in a form of thanks for coming.

“You must be Ushijima,” Iwaizumi says, rising again to face him.

“Yes, Goshiki told me who you were. Satori sent you?” Ushijima asks, voice level and calm.

“He said that you had an issue, and figured we could solve it,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Hinata— the White Mage— fainted on the outskirts of town. It may be fatigue, but something tells me otherwise.”

Ushijima nods, looking past Iwaizumi to where Hinata lays. “It may be the town’s effect. Most magic users have been driven away in the past.”

“Is it always like this?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Usually they’d just get sick or something. This is the first time someone’s fainted,” Goshiki pipes up. “Though everyone is a bit worse for wear these days— that may just be the lack of food. We’ve lost five acres over the winter.”

Iwaizumi blinks in surprise, furrowing his brow. “That’s worse than I thought,” he says, crossing his arms. “I admit I’m not feeling… my best after arriving either. Do you have anything to go off of?”

Ushijima shakes his head. “This is a place of fertile soil, and someone has tainted it. That is all we know.”

“It’s gotta be a curse!” Goshiki shouts. Iwaizumi shoots him a glare at his volume, glancing over at Hinata’s sleeping form. Goshiki takes the hint, placing a hand over his mouth before continuing on in a hushed tone. “Placed here by the Dark Mage.”

“What reason would the Dark Mage have for targeting you?”

“Does he even need one?” Goshiki insists. “He’s the _Dark Mage._ Maybe he just stumbled upon us and decided he didn’t like our peaceful lives and decided to curse us for it. Maybe he did it for the hell of it.”

Iwaizumi holds himself back from rolling his eyes. “From what I— The Royal Order— knows, he himself doesn’t act unless provoked. His monsters are another story,” Iwaizumi tells them. “It’s best not to assume things based off of rumour. The Dark Mage is calculating chaos, conducting it. He hasn’t carried things out for years. Unless he had a motive, it’d be difficult to believe he’d set this curse.”

Ushijima places a hand on Goshiki’s shoulder, Goshiki biting his lip in frustration as he looks pointedly down towards the ground. Ushijima looks at Iwaizumi, face still stoic. “If it’s not a curse placed on by the Dark Mage, then what could it be?”

“Hinata could read more into it, but the Dark Mage’s creatures can taint fog. There could be a den, or you could simply be suffering blithe. I don’t have enough information right now to make a good judgement quite yet,” Iwaizumi tells him. He’s crossed his arms now, and does his best not to be riled up by Goshiki’s ever clear distaste in his words.

“What _do_ you know, anyway?” Goshiki bites out. “Nobody _knows_ the Dark Mage. He’s a murderer, for the love of the gods! Wasn’t the last time anyone’s seen him when he killed the army before you? Kids don’t kill thousands of people— _monsters_ do! You’re a _Knight,_ not a mage! What— what—”

“Goshiki, try to show respect for—” Ushijima starts, squeezing his shoulder, but Goshiki rips himself away, tears welling in his eyes.

“Everyone knows that it’s the Dark Mage’s fault! _Everything_ is his fault! For _centuries_ now, the Dark Mage has turned everything to ruins! _Everything!”_ Goshiki shouts, taking two steps back. “He’s nothing but a cold hearted killer, from the moment he was born!” He stares Iwaizumi down, lip quivering, before turning around and storming down his hall, throwing open the front door and leaving Iwaizumi in a room filled with silence. Iwaizumi purses his lips, releasing the white knuckled tension he was unknowingly holding in his hands as he mulls over what Goshiki had said.

“I apologize for him. He’s quite emotional about the Dark Mage. That is as much as I can tell you,” Ushijima says. “If Satori trusts you, then I will as well. Come, I can find you two a spot at the inn. There are rations there you can have if you need.”

Iwaizumi drops his arms, leaning over to grab their bags and hike them up onto his shoulder. “I have food from the kingdom, but if it’d help, we can distribute it to those who need. I can hunt if needed as well.”

Ushijima nods again, turning without another word to exit the home, leaving Iwaizumi alone with Hinata. Exhaling heavily, Iwaizumi kneels down next to Hinata, making sure that he hadn’t been compromised during the commotion. Luckily his eyes are still shut, lips parted and breathing steady. Not much colour has been restored to his face, but at least now Iwaizumi knows he’s drifting between conscious and not rather in a comatose state. Slipping one arm under his knees and the other around his shoulder, Iwaizumi lifts him with ease, heading back out to the front where Ushijima waits. His hat serves as a good shield from the setting sun, as bulky as it is.

Ushijima doesn’t speak on their way to the inn. Iwaizumi doesn’t try to initiate conversation— he values silence, and now needs it more than ever. It’s odd, though, that Tendou is close to someone so opposite to him in every way. Iwaizumi mulls over the thought as they step into a modest building— though one of the only two story homes in the square. Their room is one on the top floor, with two beds and a medicine cabinet for their things. Iwaizumi appreciates the gentle feel of it, from the yellow curtains to the wool bed covers. It’s obvious that the bed frames were hand carved locally, lacking a lacquer but making up for it in charm. It brings the slightest workings of a smile to Iwaizumi’s face after a day filled with stress.

Ushijima waits in the doorway while Iwaizumi sets Hinata down on one of the beds and drops his bags. “I’ll come by in the morning. If the White Mage is awake by then, we can begin to get answers.”

Iwaizumi nods. “Thank you for your help, Ushijima.”

Ushijima bows his head. “And thank you for coming here. Goodnight.” With that, he leaves, closing the door shut behind him.

Iwaizumi works on tucking Hinata comfortably into the bed, making sure that he won’t be too cold or overheat during the night. Pulling a chunk of bread from their packs, he sets it on a cloth beside him, so that if he wakes, there will be something to eat.

Rolling out his shoulders, Iwaizumi moves to stand by the window, looking out onto the town. There aren’t many people about, and those who are move slowly, carrying thin bundles of produce or half empty sacs of grain and flour in their arms. Famine is never a pretty thing. Iwaizumi can see where the luster of the town once was in the sign above a small pub, carved in a slab of maple, in the streets lined in red cobblestone, in the warm pinks and greens of painted shutters. He’s alone now, can let himself relax now that all is done for the day.

Closing his eyes, he lets scales take the place of skin, stretching over his muscles in shimmer shades of emerald. This form always provides some sort of comfort for him, if only making him feel a bigger part of a whole. In the Senshi, scales were only shown in battle. There, he has an image to uphold for Daishou’s sake more than anything else. Here, with Hinata asleep and not another soul in the room, he knows that there is nothing to keep him from presenting this way.

In the background, Hinata rustles in his sleep. Iwaizumi looks back over, and watches the steady rise and fall of his chest. Hinata hasn’t shown himself to be wary as most people are. Most of the Royal Order, save Alisa the werecat, are at least slightly apprehensive whenever he looks this way. But Hinata hadn’t even flinched back, didn’t even look away. Normally, that never bothers him. Somehow, this is different. Hinata’s looks of awe _feel_ different.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, pushing the thought away. He has a task, a job he’s sworn to carry out. For now, that means making sure Hinata doesn’t grow any more ill than he is now. This is his skin, and this is his duty— those are facts. Neither needs him to dwell on it any more.

—

In his sleep, Hinata sees the Dark Mage again.

By now, he knows these can’t just be dreams— he’s too lucid, too aware. Even in his sleep, his heart aches at the sight of his back, wearing long, tattered robes that brush the floor. At one point, Hinata guesses, they may have been elegant, with their intricate embroidered patterns and thick fabric, but now they hold a kind of despair that matches the aura curling around him. Hinata moves to the left— whatever is happening, the Dark Mage can’t see him. He watches the purple aura flicker under the black glow of an orb in his hands. The Dark Mage’s fingers splay along the bottom, holding it gingerly in both hands as if he expects it to shatter at a moment’s notice. In his eyes flicker pain, flicker curiosity, flicker emotions so fast Hinata can hardly keep up with the ever changing expression on his face.

And then, he speaks.

“Show me the White Mage,” he whispers, voice hoarse from misuse, and Hinata feels the excitement coursing through him as the black orb clears to crystal, an image forming in its centre. He sees: a town with tainted Fog, people with empty stomachs and weak hearts. He sees: scales instead of armor, Iwaizumi sharpening a blade. He sees: a boy curled in bed, pale in his sleep— himself, Hinata realizes. Hinata leans closer at the same time that the Dark Mage leans back, the ball leaving his hands and turning black once more. It doesn’t shatter, but rolls as it hits the floor, the Dark Mage staggering in the opposite direction as he reels.

Hinata feels his anguish, feels the war inside of him raging. Every part of him wants to reach out, to touch, but he does not have a body here, nor does he have the assurance that the Dark Mage won’t startle as a frightened animal would. And as the ball slows to a halt, the aura around him grows. Purple deepens to black, shadows coming off of him in wisps that travel out of the broken stained glass windows, thick and suffocating Hinata’s every breath. The Dark Mage doesn’t scream as he had before, but Hinata can see the tears that roll down his face as he bites down onto his lip with enough force to draw blood. Red trickles down otherwise unmarked skin, but he doesn't notice or care. He just continues to cry, in silence, until the black fades to purple and then to nothing.

The Dark Mage falls, and Hinata wakes up.

—

It’s morning as Hinata sits up, gasping and clutching at the sheets. He knows where he is because the Dark Mage knows where he is, but lingering adrenaline feeds on the lack of confusion and cuts his breaths shorts, makes his still weak limbs tremor. Reaching one hand up to his cheek, Hinata touches his face to make sure he’s really here, that this isn’t another hyper-real dream space crafted by magic he’s yet to fully understand. When he pulls his hand away, it’s wet— he is real, and he is crying.

Hinata is rubbing the tears from his eyes when the door to the room opens, Iwaizumi stepping in with a cloth bag in one hand. He’s no longer covered in scales, skin brown as Hinata is so used to it being. Hinata drops his hands and darts his eyes his way— they meet, Iwaizumi’s brow knitted in a question filled with concern.

“F-fever dream,” Hinata rushes the excuse, head spinning as he quickly looks away and back down to the bed covers.

Iwaizumi nods slowly, eyes still on Hinata as he opens the door fully. “I brought food. I went hunting last night— most of what we brought was given to the town as rations. The famine is worse than we thought.” He pauses as a tall man passes him on his way in. “This is Ushijima Wakatoshi. If you’re up to it, there’s questions to be answers for all of us.”

Hinata follows Ushijima with his eyes as he stands in the centre of the room, only nodding in hello. Hinata gives him a small wave— it’s all he has the energy for in this moment— and accepts the portion of food Iwaizumi gives him. Green eyes linger on him for a moment, and Hinata’s sure he can tell that something is up, but soon breaks away as Iwaizumi moves to sit on the edge of the bed.

“There’s been debate as to whether or not the issues with this town are a curse,” Ushijima says to him. He’s to the point, not dancing around the issue at all. Hinata is still shaken from his dream and weaker than he’d perhaps like, and takes a moment to process his words.

“Tendou didn’t tell us much,” Hinata confesses. “Your crops won’t grow, right? And everyone here is a little under the weather?”

“Yesterday, it was brought up that most magic users left town. You’re the worst affected anyone has seen,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“And you think it’s a curse?” Hinata clarifies, looking up at Ushijima.

“I thought. Your companion thinks otherwise, but you should be able to settle that, shouldn’t you?”

Hinata bites his lip, stilling the shake of his hands. Something has felt _wrong_ ever since he arrived in Shiratori, aside from his acute fatigue. Closing his eyes, he lets the magic within him rise to the Fog, searching for any kind of knot or tangle in the town. To his surprise, there is nothing to be found, and yet the search leaves him panting and clutching onto what Fog he can. Both Iwaizumi and Ushijima look towards him in concern. Hinata only shakes his head, clutching the sheets once more.

“I… there’s no curse here,” Hinata tells them, looking down at his hands. “But there’s something _wrong_ with the Fog. It’s as if its been tainted or spread thin… I…”

“Ushijima, you know what the Fog is, right?” Iwaizumi asks him, standing up.

Ushijima nods. “I have read of it. The source of magic.”

“If the source of magic is compromised…” Hinata trails off, a sharp pain shooting through his head. He holds it in his hands, nursing the oncoming migraine. “That shouldn’t’ve drained me. My— I— I’ve never been this weak from something like this.”

“I reiterate that no one else has been this affected,” Ushijima adds.

“You need more rest,” Iwaizumi insists, standing up and walking over to Hinata’s side. “Eat your food and drink something. I’ll ask around the village for information while you get your strength back up.” He places a hand on Hinata’s shoulder, a gesture of comfort that Hinata gladly takes. The anxiety continues to eat at him, the prospects of what this ailment could possibly be tearing at his skull.

Hinata looks up at Iwaizumi, biting his lip before nodding. “Okay,” he agrees, voice small, unsure, trembling. “Thank you. Good luck.”

Iwaizumi pats him on the shoulder. “Gather your strength for when it’s needed. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Hinata nods, not trusting his voice as Iwaizumi and Ushijima leave the room. Alone, the whiplash of his dream catches up to him, the emotions kept at bay finally rushing in.

The Dark Mage knows who he is now, knows his face, can _find him_ through whatever connection these dreams— visions?—  hold. The pain in his face as he looked through that crystal ball haunts him, aided by paranoia. Something about the aura seemed _wrong,_ seemed leeching and all powerful but void of life. Hinata curls the blankets closer and looks to the window, half expecting to see it coated in black smoke. Of course, it’s clear. Nothing is outside save the sleepy-sick town and all its citizens, by now awake and milling in the streets.

With not much else to do, Hinata picks apart the food Iwaizumi brought him, grateful to have something to eat after hours of fast. There’s a mug filled with water as well— Hinata drinks it in two gulps and still finds his throat dry. Holding his hand above the mug, he feels the familiar electric buzz in his palm, the magic working through him to fill the cup, only now, there’s only a trickle of water instead of a stream. Hinata lifts his hands and furrows his brow, looking at his half-filled mug with curiosity.

 _Just like when I tried to sense curses,_ Hinata thinks, sipping the water. _There’s something about this place that’s getting in the way._

Setting the mug onto the bedside table, Hinata shakes his head. He makes note to tell Iwaizumi about his suspicions when he gets back, not bothering to test out his legs just yet. Instead, he curls into the covers and shuts his eyes, hoping for sleep dreamless and light. His wish is granted, but not before the memory of brown hair and purple steam flickers across the back of his eyes.

—

The cloak of the Royal Order always feels out of place when Iwaizumi is away from Senshi. Though it’s quite dashing, it draws attention to himself, more so with the extra golden seams of his rankings among the Order itself. As he follows Ushijima towards the town kitchens, where most of the population will soon be to get their rations of oil and grain, he takes note of the stares that follow him. In a place like this, he would stand out even without his robes. The dreary eyed townsfolk look at him with wonder, as they would a saviour, whispering as excitedly as those with chronically empty stomachs can. Iwaizumi doesn’t doubt the attention is hopeful, that his and Hinata’s very presence is waking up the long sleeping pride of a town struck by famine. They pass houses with shutters drawn shut, people peeking out from their doors to watch as they walk by. Iwaizumi is no stranger to this kind of reaction, and continues forwards through the square, past the town’s schoolhouse, a large well, and into the kitchens.

The whispers grow louder as he enters the building, where people sit on and around long tables, wait in lines that stretch out of the door. He sifts through the words, picking out what he needs to hear.

“Did’ja hear about the White Mage?”

“White Mage? He’s _here?”_

“See that soldier over there? Tendou sent him and the White Mage our way.”

“Well then, I guess it’s confirmed this is the Dark Mage’s doing.”

“Gods bless them, it’s proper timing that they’d come now.”

Iwaizumi breaks off from Ushijima, ignoring the gossip in favour of heading towards a head of black hair he can tell is Goshiki’s. He’s tucked beside an open door, facing another boy who leans against the same wall. They don’t notice Iwaizumi’s approach, leaving him to clear his throat to announce his presence. Goshiki’s reaction is less than friendly— a strained smile that hardly extends to his eyes, his shoulders instantly tensing as Iwaizumi steps closer.

“Goshiki, you said that you could remember when all of this started, correct?” Iwaizumi asks. Even though his story yesterday was fueled mostly by grief, Iwaizumi figures his grasp is better than the house parents swapping tall tales over the table.

Goshiki looks at him in surprise, brows furrowing. “You’re asking me?” he asks. Iwaizumi shoots him an exasperated look, which makes Goshiki sit up straighter. “I— I mean yes! I do. I did.”

The boy beside him rolls his eyes. “What do you want to know? Nothing’s happened here in years. If you ask me, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Iwaizumi turns to him, raising a brow. “Shirabu,” the boy introduces himself. “You’re the First Knight or whatever, right?”

Iwaizumi nods, looking between the two. “Iwaizumi is fine,” he tells him. “It’s been eight years since the Royal Army was killed.”

Shirabu scoffs. “Everyone knows that.”

“Goshiki mentioned something yesterday,” Iwaizumi says, turning his attention to the boy in question. “How’d you know the Dark Mage was a child when the army was killed?”

Both he and Shirabu stiffen, Shirabu’s mouth falling open. “The Dark Mage was a _kid_ when he did that?”

“Ten. It’s not common knowledge, which makes it odd why you know,” Iwaizumi says, still looking at Goshiki as he rips the fabric of his tunic. “It means that you probably understand what’s happened more than the rest here— whether due to curiosity or guidance, I don’t know.”

Goshiki stays silent, but Shirabu whistles, leaning back against the wall. “Ten… I was nine when that happened— Goshiki was eight. You must be his age, then,” he wonders aloud.

Iwaizumi keeps his focus on Goshiki, noting his averting eyes and shrinking shoulders. “We don’t have to talk about it all here, but we— Hinata and I— need to know these things to help,” he tells him. “Will you speak?”

Goshiki swallows thickly, eyes darting to Shirabu before he straightens his back, lifting his gaze to look Iwaizumi in the eye. “I—I’ll do it!” he near shouts, not even wincing at his volume. A few people turn their heads, but he pays them no mind. “I’ll tell you what you need to know— we can go back to my home if you need, or—”

“Wherever is easiest is fine. For now, we can step outside— and lower your voice if you’d prefer not to be noticed,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Goshiki lights up, nodding enthusiastically as he pulls Shirabu with him through the doorway. Iwaizumi following him and the sounds of Shirabu’s mumbled curses to a small alley behind the kitchens. A stray cat weaves past them as they enter, likely feasting on whatever morsels of food it could scrounge up from the trash, before scampering off, leaving Goshiki the stage to speak.

“So, it got bad a few years ago—” he starts.

“Got bad? You mean it was happening before?” Iwaizumi asks, narrowing his eyes.

Goshiki nods. “Yeah, uh, it’s been about two years since people started getting sick, but…” he trails off, his earlier excitement leaving him. “Most of us didn’t start feeling it until then, but a few months before, my mom stopped being able to use magic.”

“She was a magic user?” Iwaizumi asks.

“A mage, healer mostly. She— she didn’t know or understand why,” he tells him. “Then she started to get sick, slowly, y’know? At first she was tired, and then she lost most of her strength. And then… well…”

“She disappeared,” Shirabu finishes, a scowl set in his face. “No note, no warning.”

“I— I’ve been looking for her!” Goshiki adds, trying to be positive and failing, his watering eyes giving it away. “She could be out there, y’know. She might not be dead but… I don’t wanna think about what she is if not dead.”

Iwaizumi understands— if not a body turned to earth, she’s a mother to an orphaned son. He stays quiet, waiting for Goshiki to continue.

“So, where was I? Um, right. People started getting sick a few months after that. Weaker, tireder, ‘nd stuff. We lost a part of the rice fields that spring, but no one expected it all to be barren come harvest,” Goshiki says. “And then next spring, nothing grew back. There’s a few fields that have managed to grow potatoes, a patch of wheat, but everything else— the fruit trees, the squash and carrots and the bok choy— it’s all gone.”

Nodding, Iwaizumi thinks over what he has told him, mind circling through all of what he had said. “Hinata confirmed it wasn’t a curse this morning,” he tells him as he thinks, still trying to understand what magic not working and crops not growing would have in common.

“Hinata? What, like the White Mage? What’s he doing?” Shirabu asks skeptically, crossing his arms.

“Oh, he’s sick!” Goshiki fills in. “Passed out ‘nd stuff. Is he still really weak, Iwa—?”

“Wait. You said your mother lost her ability to use magic months before anyone else felt sick,” Iwaizumi cuts in, eyebrows furrowing together in thought. “Were there any other magic users living here?”

Goshiki shakes his head, confused at his haste. “No, she was the only one.”

“And Ushijima wasn’t lying when he said no one was as affected as Hinata is?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Ushijima doesn’t lie,” Shirabu says, voice hard and defensive. “What he tells you is the truth.”

Iwaizumi steps back. “Then you’ve told me all I need for now,” he says. “Thank you both for your help. If you think of anything, I’m staying at the inn. You can pass information onto Hinata if I’m not there.”

“Are you leaving already?” Goshiki asks, cocking his head.

“There’s still more I need to look into,” Iwaizumi says, nodding to them both. “I’ll see you around.”

“G-good luck!” Goshiki shouts from behind him.

“You’ll need it,” Shirabu tacks on, eliciting an argumentative reply from Goshiki. As the two bicker, Iwaizumi walks back around to the front, too busy thinking over what he just realized to fuel their conversation.

Unless all of his experience and lessons have been wrong, and Iwaizumi _highly_ doubts that, there’s only one way to cut off a mage’s magic: through the Fog. If that were tampered with, it’d explain why Goshiki’s mother, a mage, would have felt the effects first, and it’d explain why Hinata was so affected. Iwaizumi hardly had the chance to see Hinata in action or perform any huge spells, but he can’t deny his prowess, nor can he deny the legends. If a mage of his scale were to be cut off from the Fog, _of course_ he’d be fatigued to the point of fainting. The Fog is connected to one’s life source, like oxygen or sunlight, and for him, those two things are heavily related. If the Fog is compromised, it makes sense why everything else is too.

Hinata is up by the time he arrives back, either not having slept at all or just woken up. Either way, he’s mustered enough energy to confirm Iwaizumi’s suspicions with happenings of his own before Iwaizumi can even tell him what he found out. Once everything is laid out on the table, things seem a little bit clearer.

“It’s… it’s either really thin, or something’s in the way,” Hinata tells him. “Remember when I checked for the curse? It was like I couldn’t even find this town on the map.”

“So it’s settled,” Iwaizumi echoes, sitting down across from Hinata. “We know the problem, now to find out what’s caused it.”

Iwaizumi lets himself feel a spark of pride. He’s onto _something,_  it seems. Now, they just have to figure out what.

—

It takes a few more days for Hinata to be able to stand for prolonged periods of time. In that time, Iwaizumi investigates more people, but for the most part comes up with the same story— crops died, people felt tired, and famine ensued. Following the one other lead he had, Iwaizumi visited the original patch where the crops had begun to die, but it was mostly in vian. He ended up half a mile southeast of the town centre, standing in a patch of ashen dirt marked with a stake in an endless field of death.

It’s a relief when Hinata finally decides he can’t stand to stay inside any longer. He’s left using his staff as a cane for the most part, but it sparks a newfound determination that he’ll finally be able to do things for himself. Those days indoors were spent reading on his part, flipping through the Book Of Monsters he brought along to see if he could find anything. Needless to say, he found nothing but a few extra hours of sleep.

Iwaizumi offers to show Hinata around the town while they hunt for anything suspicious. Iwaizumi calls it patrol and investigation, but Hinata can’t see much use in it in this sort of town. As they stroll the cobblestone streets, he can’t help but be reminded of Torino, if Torino was much larger with more problems.

“It’s amazing how much the townspeople’s attitudes have changed in the past few days,” Iwaizumi tells Hinata as they pass a school house. “When we arrived, everyone was constantly… tired. Now they’re outside later at night and even laughing.”

“I’d conjure a whole feast for the town if I could,” Hinata says. “I will once we find what’s at the heart of all this. It’ll be a thank you for housing us, y’know?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, but it’s not annoyed in the least. Hinata watches the corners of his mouth move from their set frown to a light smile, his shoulders dropping enough to no longer seem knitted together. He’s still tense— they _both_ are— but it’s less so than he was before they began to walk together.

Giggling from his left pulls Hinata’s attention to a group of kids sitting on swings in the school yard, pointing unabashedly towards them. Once they realize Hinata has noticed them, they all begin to wave, two even running over.

“You’re the White Mage, aren’t’cha?” a girl asks, jumping up and down. “Mom says the White Mage has a real big hat, just like you!”

Behind him, Iwaizumi snorts, Hinata doing his best to contain laughter as he nods. “Yeah, I am! Me and Iwaizumi are working on finding out what’s sucking all the Fog— the energy— outta this town,” he tells them.

Another girl tugs on his cape, cocking her head. “Can you do a magic for us?” she asks, eyes wide and hopeful. At that, the rest of her friends begin talking, all begging to see magic in real life.

Despite knowing it may not be the greatest, Hinata kneels down as extends his palm, using twice the willpower it would normally take to light a flame in his palm. It burns a brilliant shade of white, dancing along his skin and enchanting the kids enough that they all fall silent. It’s then that Hinata realizes none of them have seen magic before, that their lives have been those of constant poverty and fear. Heart aching, he lets the flame fizzle out into nothing before standing up and dusting off his knees, smiling back down at the kids as they stare at him in wonder.

“Oh, get back here!” someone yells, jogging out from the school. Hinata looks up at the exact same time that all five of the kids move to hide behind him and Iwaizumi as the person, who he assumes to be a teacher, comes up to them. Once he realizes who they are, however, he pauses completely blinking in surprise.

“Oh, you’re the White Mage,” he deadpans, eyes almost as wide a the children. “And— oh wow— you’re the First Knight. Am I supposed to bow?”

“No,” Hinata and Iwaizumi say simultaneously. The boy sighs in relief, putting on hand on his hip, seeming to have forgotten why he came outside.

“Well, I’m Semi. Semi Eita,” he introduces himself, turning to Iwaizumi. “Wakatoshi said you’re Iwaizumi, right? You’re somehow shorter than I thought.”

“He’s really strong!” Hinata adds, careful not to bump into any of the kids who are still certain they’re hidden.

“Strong? Could he lift me?” one of the kids asks from behind Hinata, poking his head out. Illusion gone, all of the kids move from behind them and crowd around Iwaizumi, poking and begging for him to lift them up. Hinata stifles a laugh behind his hand as Iwaizumi looks over to Semi with a cautious expression.

“Do you mind?” he asks. Semi shakes his head, and with that, he outstretches both arms and kneels, letting the kids cling onto his biceps and forearms. Once they’ve latched on, he stands up swiftly, earning a shriek or two as the kids swing down from his outstretched arms. Hinata watches as they kick their feet and giggle, Iwaizumi smiling as he sways his arms and spins them slowly. Such a carefree act is opposite of what Hinata has seen of Iwaizumi, makes him freeze in his tracks and just appreciate the moment of joy between him and the kids, no worries, no famine, no Dark Mage. It makes him feel a little warmer, stand a little straighter, even after the kids are put down and returned to Semi.

Hinata spots something through the commotion of Semi rounding up the kids and Iwaizumi moving closer— an old fashioned bucket well in the centre of the square. He moves closer, inspecting the chipped brick exterior and shingled roof. It’s sturdy and holds character, but what catches Hinata’s eye is not the sight, but the sound. The heavy slosh and trickle of rushing water echoes through the depths of the well’s open cavity, enough so that it’s still loud when Hinata leans over and sticks his ear closer. It’s interesting enough that he straightens and turns back over to Semi, who has yet to get his class in order, and shouts.

“Hey, what’s with this well?” Hinata asks, still gripping the side. Iwaizumi moves to join him beside it, peering down the hole to stare at the darkness below.

“Oh, that? It just connects to the underground river that flows under the town. It dumps into the East River eventually. It was why the soil was so fertile around here, if you can believe it now,” he tells him, but Hinata is still caught on the concept of a river.

Hinata’s mind flashes back to the creek, to _untamed, it’ll suck up the rest of the surrounding Fog and grow bigger,_ to the patch of death surrounding it. Whipping his head around to face Iwaizumi, it’s clear they’re both thinking the same thing with how they both gape at each other with wide eyes, silent.

“Iwaizumi, we _need_ to go down this well,” Hinata tells him. “The flower— it’s— it’s—”

“Been under the town the entire time,” Iwaizumi finishes, reading his mind. “Are you feeling well enough to go down there? Whatever this thing has grown into, it’s not gonna be like those things we faced in the woods.”

Hinata smiles, the adrenaline already starting to rush through. “I’ve handled myself before,” he says, hands gripping onto the staff. “Now, let’s get into the well— wait, you need your armor!”

Iwaizumi shrugs, discarding his Royal Order cloak and setting it on the ground. Semi, still standing nearby, stares at them in disbelief, giving up on trying to get the kids back inside. “What in the _hell_ are you doing?”

Iwaizumi moves his sword to a holster on his back, the blade catching the glint of the midday sun. “Saving the town,” he replies, not even bothering to look over. “Do you have a rope?”

Semi stares dumbfounded at both of them as Hinata takes off his hat and sets it with Iwaizumi’s cloak, already sitting on the edge of the well. “Just use the one attached to the bucket, it’ll take you to the bottom if that’s where you’re headed?”

Hinata shouts back a quick thank you as Iwaizumi begins to unravel the rope, cutting off the bucket as Hinata ties that end around his waist. Clutching his staff to his chest, Hinata waits in painful anticipation as Iwaizumi grips onto the rope to set him down easy. Hinata has no qualms about Iwaizumi’s strength— he’s more than sure he can get him down there— but the unknown that lurks in the depths of the well are enough to make a shiver travel down Hinata’s spine. If he knew it’d be strong enough, he’d summon a protective shield so that he’d have some defense once he reached the bottom, but is left instead with his wits as his only weapon as Iwaizumi begins to give the rope slack.

The way down is long, dark, and increasingly colder, a perpetual chill sticking to Hinata’s skin as he grows closer to the bottom. The only way he can tell is the ever loudening sounds of the river rushing beneath him, slow enough that he figures he’ll have footholds but fast enough that he knows it’ll be some walk. Summoning a small sphere of light to his palm, Hinata illuminates the cavern as his feet touch water. He only sinks down to his shins, and although it’s uncomfortable, it’s a much better prospect than walking.

“Iwaizumi, you can stand down here!” Hinata shouts, voice bouncing off the walls of the cavern and the well as he unties the rope from his waist. “You can pull the rope up now!”

Instead of going up, however, the rope goes straight down, falling slack in a coil in front of Hinata. He only has half a second to be confused before a huge splash catches him off guard and sends him tripping, Iwaizumi having jumped the fifty-foot drop of the well within a stumble. In the light from Hinata’s palm, Hinata notices that Iwaizumi has already shifted his skin to thick green scales— _of course_ he didn’t need his armor.

“Do you know which way we’re headed?” Hinata asks, looking at the two ways the river spans, realizing despite all his powers, his sense of direction is still less than stellar. Luckily, Iwaizumi nods.

“The first field to wilt was southeast of the square,” he says, turning to face the opposite way as Hinata. “It’s half a mile, but the river should take us right to it.”

Nodding, Hinata follows him through the cave, water sloshing around his feet. The hem of his cape drags along the top of the water, and he’s glad he left his hat above ground, Iwaizumi having to duck in some parts in order to pass through. The ceiling grows much taller, and shadows from stalactites create haunting puppets in the shape of teeth along the wall, following them along as they go deeper into the cavern. Wrapped around many of them are vines, thick, cracking the formations. Eventually, the light from the well vanishes behind them, leaving the only source of light Hinata’s magic. It’s why he begins to panic as it flickers, his limbs growing more and more heavy. It’s a sign that they’re close, a sign that Iwaizumi notices and takes heed. Sword at the ready, they continue on a little further only for Hinata’s light to die completely, shrouding the entire cave in instant darkness.

“Hold on,” Iwaizumi murmurs, moving close to Hinata. He hears the tear of cloth and a quiet inhale before Iwaizumi’s face illuminates with a warm orange glow, a chunk of burning cloth in his hand. Hinata nods, moving to head on forwards only for Iwaizumi to grip, hard, onto his shoulder. Hinata goes to yelp, but Iwaizumi quickly presses that hand to his lips, slowly pointing behind him. Confused, Hinata whips around, startling as soon as he spots it.

Roots and vines tangle to create a cage along the walls of the cave, a huge stem the width of a tree shooting up from the depths of the river two feet in front of Hinata. Eight heavy petals stretch out around the head in a magnificent shade of purple, gold shimmer almost beautiful if not for what lays at the centre of it all— a snarling mouth full of teeth. As Hinata moves back, he steps on something that squishes, instantly causing the flower to lean forwards and _wail._

Knocked back by the sheer force of sound, Hinata catches himself as he falls into the water, watching as Iwaizumi leaps forwards, sword cutting the vine already headed for Hinata’s feet as he throws the small flaming cloth towards the flower’s centre. It misses, but manages to catch one of the petals, filling the room with an angry orange glow as the flower screeches again, more vines headed their way.

“Iwaizumi!” Hinata shouts, rolling out of the way as one of the vines slams down where his body was one second ago. Iwaizumi slashes through another three of the vines only for another six to sprout in their wake, all reaching for them both. They dive in opposite directions, clothes thoroughly soaked at this point, as the vines curl back around. Hinata, smaller, is able to avoid them, but one snags hold onto Iwaizumi’s bicep. Luckily, Iwaizumi can pull his arm free, the stem snapping and another two growing from the bud.

“You’re gonna have to hold your own!” Iwaizumi calls back, still pushing through the vines to try and make his way to the centre. By now, Hinata is almost sitting next to the stem, the flower too distracted by Iwaizumi and his sword to try and attack Hinata. Looking up at the flower’s head above him, he takes a deep breath. _It can only be killed by cutting off the head,_ Hinata thinks. He extends an arm, throwing his entire weight into the action as he prays for a blade or a fire or _anything._ Only a weak fizzle of sparks falls from his hands, enough to warrant a vine heading his way.

Hinata rushes forwards, jumping as it whips as his shins. Iwaizumi grabs him by the collar of his shirt and throws him backwards out of the fray, already swinging his sword as the vine’s new target. Out of harm's way for the time being, Hinata watches as Iwaizumi continues to dodge the vines, now realizing that cutting them just creates more of a problem. Even when he’s not attacking, the vines still circle him, leaving Hinata completely unguarded. Shooting upright, Hinata leans onto his staff, doing his best not to wheeze from exertion. Being so close to the flower makes him dizzy, but he knows now what he needs to do. Running back forwards, he passes Iwaizumi as he wrestles with a particularly thick vine, sliding back up against the flower’s steam.

“Iwaizumi!” Hinata yells, tossing his staff out of the way. “I can get the head, just throw me your sword!”

Through the swirling mass of vines, Iwaizumi catches his eyes, the bright green gleaming in the light of the fire. The heat of the fire and Iwaizumi’s apprehensive glare are suffocating, draw time out long as Iwaizumi turns away, releasing his hold on the vines and letting them surround him. Just as he’s blocked from view, his sword shines, arching through the chaos of the vines, thrown to slice clean through and wedge in the stem beside Hinata.

With no time to watch Iwaizumi be completely engulfed by the vines, Hinata clutches both hands around the hilt of Iwaizumi’s sword and yanks it from the stem. It’s heavy enough that he staggers a few feet, trying to keep a hold on it with wet hands, the fire burning closer as the flower screams once more, ear splitting, ringing throughout the entire cave. With all of the strength left in him, Hinata lifts the sword, swinging it down to cut clean through the stem right below the flower’s centre. It and the head hit the water with a huge splash, the flower still wailing into the pond as it’s vines go limp, falling loosely around Iwaizumi as he breaks his way free.

Before either can celebrate their victory, a rush of fresh air bursts through Hinata’s lungs, blasting him and Iwaizumi as it travels like a shockwave in all directions. The flower disintegrates to ash, roots solidifying into stone as the burning petal rises as smoke to the air. Despite the darkness, Hinata doesn’t feel scared, because for the first time in days his body feels _alive._

Whipping around to face Iwaizumi, Hinata holds out both hands and creates a show of fireworks in the small cavern, magic back in full force, exploding between them in brilliant shades of pink, yellow, and blue. Through the sparks, Hinata watches Iwaizumi’s face break out into a sharp toothed smile as he shakes his head in disbelief, wading closer to pat Hinata on the back. Hinata smiles, and that alone shines brighter than the little explosions dancing around their heads.

“We— we did it!” Hinata says, breathless and gleeful, as if he can’t believe it himself. Without even thinking, he surges forwards and wraps Iwaizumi in a hug, squeezing him tight before jumping off, laughing through the leftover adrenaline still running through him. Iwaizumi manages to untense enough to move again, reaching down to grab his sword and Hinata’s staff from the water.

“We really did,” he says, and green fireworks flicker behind him as he outstretches the staff to Hinata, his sword held loosely in his other hand. Swollen with pride, Hinata takes it, gripping the wood tightly as his chest burns as bright as all the colours around them.

And above them, a woman stops coughing, and seven people fall to the ground in shock. From the decay of rotten plants sprouts two years of new growth, stretching towards the beating sun and blooming in vigour. The barren lands surrounding the once sick town of Shiratori begin to flourish, from the trees to the birds to the bees who leave their hives and buzz closer, a swarm of welcome friends not seen in years time. In town, Semi lets his students run through the streets, laughing at the green grass and the blue flowers and the yellow weeds. Goshiki opens the window to his sleepy home and grins, shouts alongside all the rest of the town and wakes up Shirabu, who cannot be upset when he can straighten his back once more. Somewhere, Ushijima looks up from the tree he was nursing, the one that has just sprouted cherry blossoms in the sweetest shade of pink, and reaches out to touch them.

And far away, in the capital of the entire kingdom, Tendou pauses as he follows their king, some kind of slight pang echoing through his heart. And Tendou smiles, and skips to keep pace with royalty, because despite not having seen his friends in years, he _knows._

—

For what they lack in food reserves, the town makes up for in spirit. Despite Iwaizumi’s assurance that they did _not_ need a celebration, the townsfolk seemed to agree that some kind of festivities were in order after the years of famine that had been just washed away. So here they are, dressed in dry clothes gifted to them by an elderly woman who nearly ran to meet them. Iwaizumi had bowed so low Hinata nearly spat out his drink in surprise, and spent the next half hour speaking to the woman and thanking her for her kindness. She isn’t the only one thanking them— Hinata finds himself surrounded by hoards of people who rub his shoulders and pull him into hugs, the gaggle of five kids growing to fifteen following him as he walks through the streets. Lanterns are dusted and hung from the roofs of buildings, and Hinata conjures spectral butterflies to dance through the night sky above, to enchant the sleeping residents of the town and wake them from their pain.

The entire time, Hinata bites back tears, has to keep himself from bawling out of the sheer surreality of it all. Just hours ago he was soaked and swinging a sword in desperation, but now he stands a hero among people just the same as him. It makes his chest bubble, makes him miss his mother, and Natsu, and Kiyoko, and Yachi. Hinata stares up at the stars and smiles, knowing that they’ll hear about this soon enough.

“Trying to escape the party?” says Iwaizumi from below him, startling Hinata enough that he jumps. He’s been hiding out on the roof of the school house— it was low enough to climb, and mostly obscured by a large oak that had finally sprouted leaves. Hinata scooches over to make room for him, patting the roof beside him as Iwaizumi climbs up.

“Like you’re one to talk. I think you spent so much time talking to that old woman so you wouldn’t have to hear everyone fawn over you,” Hinata teases, leaning back onto his forearms and turning to face Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi shakes his head as he sits down, elbows resting on his knees as he looks out at the town. “It’s… a belief passed down for generations in my family. You’re taught to honour those elder to you, to show respect and value the wisdom they carry,” he says, voice quiet and honest. “It’s very important to me to stop for her, or for the old pines, or for the tortoise that has lived even more years than I. They all hold their own stories, and experiences, and lives. It’s not about authority, it’s… just a balance— an appreciation.”

Hinata watches him speak, mouth agape and eyes wide. The stars gleam against Iwaizumi’s skin— after they had arrived at ground level, Hinata was almost disappointed to see he had transformed it back. It strikes him then, as he watches the spectral butterflies cast magenta light across his face, how guarded Iwaizumi is, how _rare_ it is for him to speak like this. Hinata appreciates it, smiles and hugs his knees to his chest.

“It sounds like your family has a lotta tradition in it,” Hinata says, stilling watching him watch the sky. “Are you all like that?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t speak for a few pregnant seconds, and Hinata almost rushes to apologize for saying the wrong thing when he smiles, stretching out his legs. “We are. People call us old souls from time to time,” Iwaizumi tells him, looking back over his way. He pauses, and their eyes meet. Hinata finds himself holding his breath at the softness in Iwaizumi’s expression, in how his cheeks seem so much more gentle under the light of the stars. “You know, I’d call you an old soul too.”

Surprised, Hinata sits up straighter, laughing a little in disbelief. “What makes you say that?” he asks through giggles, hands still grasping the wooden shingles of the roof.

Iwaizumi just shrugs, and looks back up to the sky. “Dunno. A hunch, a feeling. Something about your eyes gives it away— the fire behind them,” he says. For half a second, that smile turns bittersweet, and he sighs gently under his breath. “You remind me of a friend I had a long time ago.”

“Really?” Hinata asks, grinning with excitement.

Iwaizumi nods slowly, eyes closing shut. He hums. “Yeah. I’ll tell you more about him some day,” he promises. “But we should go back down to the rest of the town. They all want to see you, after all.”

Nodding, Hinata rises to a stand, stretching his arms high above his head. Something about the promise, whether it’s nature or the one he made it with, makes his chest ache in a good sort of way, in the stretch of used muscles or ribs tired from laughing. As he and Iwaizumi climb back down to the ground and walk through the streets, a glimmer of pink shines out of the corner of Hinata’s eye. Turning, he kneels to the ground to pick up the object in question— a small chunk of pink crystal, no bigger than his fingertip.

“What’s that you got there?” Iwaizumi asks, crouching beside him.

“A cool rock,” Hinata says, holding it out for Iwaizumi. “Here— I’ll give it to you.”

At that, Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, his face going slack as he gently takes the gemstone from Hinata’s hands. “Tourmaline,” he murmurs, turning it over with one nail. His curiosity is almost childlike, makes Hinata’s smile grow wider and wider until Iwaizumi looks back up, and he freezes. “I— I collect crystals.”

“What? That’s awesome!” Hinata exclaims, leaning onto his palm.

“And teeth,” Iwaizumi adds, looking down. Hinata can’t read the expression on his face— the split second vulnerability, the smile that hasn’t left since he made that promise up on the roof.

“That’s the coolest!” he shouts anyways, because it _is_ and there’s no use dwelling on these things now, not when the entire world is a firework and they’ve just won their first game. “C’mon, tuck it somewhere safe— let’s head back like you said.”

With that, he bounds off, Iwaizumi right at his heels, this featherweight giddiness sitting on every inch of his skin. They stay side by side in the bustle of the crowd until Hinata is pulled away in furious questioning by two bakers who want to know if he could enchant their cakes, and Hinata looks at Iwaizumi through the space between their heads and waves, a silent plea to _go on, I’ll be right ahead._ He knows that Iwaizumi will be there, will be waiting. He doesn’t have to worry about that at all.

—

With Hinata occupied, Iwaizumi is left to wander the rest of the streets, nodding to passerbys and children as he knows to do. There isn’t much left for him to do— he isn’t a talker or a gambler and doesn’t feel right eating or drinking any of the specialty things people have brought from their cellars to celebrate. Instead, he watches the world go by, leaning under the roof of someone’s home and playing with the crystal in his palm.

“Iwaizumi!” a familiar voice shouts, and he can’t even bring himself to stiffen as Goshiki approaches, standing tall even though he plays with the hem of his sleeve. “I wanted to thank you for what you did, and… to apologize.”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows in surprise, tilting his head. “You don’t have to, Goshiki.”

“But I do!” he insists, leaning in. “I let my emotions get in the way that first day. You were just doing your job and… I interfered.” His eyes cast down in shame, and Iwaizumi watches him hesitate before continuing.

“My older sister was a knight in the Royal Army. She, uh, died that day,” Goshiki tells him, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s hard not to be angry, y’know, it’s hard not to see other people angry. The Dark Mage took my best friend from me, I can’t explain what that’s like. And then my mom is gone and it’s… he’s the easiest thing to blame it on. But you— you were thinking it through and I had to let my emotions get in the way.”

“Goshiki,” Iwaizumi says, words strong and indisputable. “You can’t apologize for emotions.”

With that, Goshiki’s chest puffs out, his eyes already watering as he nods. “I— I know! Which is why I will tell you now,” he shouts, taking in a deep breath. “Please, help others like me! And— and tell Hinata when he defeats the Dark Mage— tell him that we’re all behind him too!”

Iwaizumi looks at him, at the tears running down his cheeks and every emotion battling— pride and humility nipping at his heels. He claps him on the shoulder, enough that he’ll startle, but not enough that it’ll hurt, and takes a step away.

“You’re smart, Goshiki,” he tells him, hand holding tightly to the crystal in his palm. “Find a cause to fight for besides revenge. The end will be much sweeter if you do.”

Goshiki’s eyes widen in surprise, and he nods furiously, using his sleeve to wipe his tears. “I will! Yes— yes! Thank you!”

With a bow, he turns and leaves, a sort of determination in his step that is heavy in its optimism. Iwaizumi shakes his head, watching as he bounds off towards Ushijima and Shirabu nearly vibrating with excitement. Iwaizumi simply looks back down to his hand, opens his palm to view the shimmering crystal inside, and smiles.

—

It takes a day and a half to find someone with a horse and caravan willing to sell to them, and yet in that time, Iwaizumi and Hinata are left with no leads. The success in Shiratori is short lived and leads way to the anxious desire to continue forwards, to search for the next thing they need to solve. Hinata can only go off of a tower in his dream, and he’s yet to have spoken of those visions. Besides that, they’ve contemplated jumping towns as they look for leviathans, under the idea that they might point in the direction of where the Dark Mage resides. Iwaizumi, in a feat of pragmatism Hinata can only desire to have, wrote a letter to Kageyama, the Order’s strategist, to see if they had any news in Senshi.

Needing an escape from the confines of the inn room, Hinata offered to mail the letter, bringing him here, to the town’s street at sunset, alone while families eat their meals and couples laugh away. There’s a peddler leaving for the capital the night after next, and Hinata is supposed to give him the letter and five silver coins as pay for his services. He’s in no rush to get there and get back either way, simply trying to clear his mind of the fog that has settled.

It’s not only that that’s been bothering him. With no more stress from the sick town around him and the foe in front of them gone, Hinata’s been left to muse over the vision from a few nights before. At this point, they’ve grown almost _normal,_  if normal left a shudder down your spine for weeks to come and haunting images of someone you think you should _know_ in pain to flicker while you rest. Hinata kicks a stray rock along as he walks, shaking his head. Even with the Fog restored, the ache lodged in his chest has refused to leave. It throbs when he thinks too hard, squeezes his windpipe whenever he closes his eyes, leaves him longing for a name he can’t place, looking for a face in the crowds he _knows_ but doesn’t know in the way most people would think. And, if Hinata— _when_ Hinata— thinks about the dreams, and the Dark Mage looking at _him_ through a crystal ball, it truly aches, bubbling inside of him, eating away at his insides.

Lost in thought, Hinata doesn’t notice that the streets have gone silent until he realizes he’s wandered too far, landing him under a knobby looking tree. It’s yet to have flowered or sprouted leaves, the buds full and ripe and waiting— an odd sight to see in midsummer. Hinata shudders, taking a step closer to see, only for hushed voices to fill the empty air around him.

It’s happened months before, but still catches him off guard as he spins around, back bumping against the tree as the figure— the _oracle_ — appears once more. Their robes are more formal now than before, glittering like stars over dark skies, but still hold the proud royal blue tone of what they had worn before. Hinata does his best to still the tremors in his hands now, gripping tighter onto his staff as the hooded oracle removes the sash from around their mouth, exposing swollen lips that open to speak with the same ghostly elegance of a thousand voices.

 

_“Where feral cats and sea folk meet,_

_Your quest is to cross to the other shore._

_But of darkness, this new land will reek,_

_Ending this chapter of your millennial lore._

 

_Fear what lies in ocean coves below,_

_Heed the warning of long sung tales,_

_Taste the lips of death to look upon the glow,_

_Or find salvation in green knit scales._

 

_Know victory is not violence,_

_And darkness shall know your name._

_Break the veil of silence,_

_This is not a winning game._

 

_Meet the boy of vision, the one that you have seen._

_Do not forget the Dark Mage’s hands lay unclean.”_

 

The whispers stop, and the sounds of the evening restart in colour— birds chirping and cicadas buzzing loud despite the tension between Hinata and the oracle as they fix their sash back around their mouth. Hinata steels himself, suppressing his fear as he faces the oracle head on.

“How’d you find me?” Hinata asks them, tilting his head.

They look— or rather turn their hooded face— to Hinata. “Destiny does not favour anyone, Hinata Shouyou. Don’t forget what the ones around you carry.” Once again, their voice is changed— smooth and low and that of any other person.

“I-if this is going to become a regular thing then you—”

“I will not tell you who I am until you are in dire straights. When my identity becomes the tiniest mystery in your world, then you will know,” they tell him. “Take heed. You are no longer in Torino, Hinata Shouyou. This time is dangerous, and words will not protect you.” With that, they turn, robes grazing the grass as Hinata calls out in vain. In a heartbeat, they’ve vanished, as if dissipated like smoke into the very air Hinata breathes.

Hinata still falls to the ground, letter forgotten. Just now, when he was beginning to sift through the mystery of _who_ the Dark Mage is, did the oracle have to show up with more riddles. Heading leaning against the back of the tree trunk, Hinata sighs. At the very least, they provided him with some sort of guidance of where to go next. It doesn’t _feel_ like guidance though. The oracle left Hinata with more questions than answers and more worries than before. It’s not as if the last prophecy was a nursery rhyme, but this one holds a kind of atmosphere of dread that Hinata can’t help but shudder.

“Taste the lips of death to look upon the glow,” Hinata whispers. Instinctively, his own hand rises to touch his mouth, clammy and cold even in the summer heat. Death is a ghost that seems to haunt him if only just as a word, as a concept whispered by someone who seems to know too much about him for Hinata to feel safe. It makes rising to a stand harder, makes wandering back towards the inn a long road in eerie silence.

Iwaizumi is waiting for him in their room, leaning over their map with a pencil tucked behind one ear. At the sound of the door opening, he looks up, freezing before he has the chance to speak. Hinata does his best to smile despite the chill to his skin, and closes the door, awkwardly moving to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Hinata, did something happen? You look shaken,” Iwaizumi asks quietly, setting the map aside and turning his chair to face him. The worry is clear in how his jaw clenches, long nails gripping at the back of the chair. Hinata hesitates for half a moment about telling him the truth, before remembering it’s _Iwaizumi,_ the person who just broke his own shell to tell him something more.

“Um, I met an oracle, just now,” Hinata tells him, voice wavering. He swallows, darting his eyes to his feet before he can gauge Iwaizumi’s reaction. “It’s not the first time. They gave me a prophecy and, uh, it’s— it’s something.”

“An oracle?” Iwaizumi echoes. Hinata looks up, watching how the tension stays rigid in his bones, slit pupil eyes staring Hinata down. “Are you in trouble?”

At that, Hinata laughs weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I borrow your pencil? I’ll write it out for you.”

Iwaizumi removes the pencil from his ear and hands it to him, taking a piece of parchment from the desk and a book for him to write on. Hinata’s hands shake as he writes, making for slow work, slower when he remembers that Iwaizumi is watching his every move, waiting. The anticipation is worse as he hands the paper back for him to read, eyes, flickering over the page as his brow furrows more and more with every passing second. Hinata plays with the hem of his cape as he waits, jumping as Iwaizumi speaks.

 _“Break the veil of silence, this is not a winning game,”_ he reads, shaking his head. “It doesn’t sound good, even if it mentions salvation. There must be a double meaning.”

“I hope _death_ is metaphorical,” Hinata says, shrinking into his cloak.

“And the last line…” Iwaizumi mutters, trailing off. Neither he nor Hinata speak, both knowing that the foretold event mentioned can’t be a good thing. Hinata’s dreams suddenly feel much more like a secret, heavy on his throat as Iwaizumi rereads the two lines over again. Looking up from the page, he catches Hinata’s eyes, staring at him with a question Hinata can’t yet answer.

 _Does he know? He can’t know,_ Hinata worries, doing his best not to quiver. It isn’t as if the dreams, visions, whatever they are, are something he can control. For as real as they feel and seem, they could just be figments of his imagination, could simply be nothing more than images pulled together by a worried self conscious. Deep inside, Hinata knows that he’s only denying himself by thinking that. There’s no way the visceral ache he feels whenever he’s visited by the Dark Mage while he sleeps could be something made up.

Finally, Iwaizumi looks away, folding the paper up and tucking it into the map. “At the very least, we have a direction,” he tells him. _“Feral cats_ must mean the werecat village— it’s on the bank of the East River. If the rest of the prophecy says anything clear, it’s that we should get across.” Nodding, Hinata goes back to wringing his hands, watching as Iwaizumi stands up. “We can leave in the morning. For now, we should get dinner and what provisions we might need. Did you send the letter?”

Hinata startles from his trance, remembering the paper still in his pocket. “Oh! No, I got distracted…” he says sheepishly, glad the topic has shifted from the prophecy. “We can, uh, grab food and mail it then.”

Iwaizumi nods, wringing out his hands in his lap. “There isn’t running from fate. You can’t change what the oracle said, but… I think the meaning may change,” he muses. “Either way, you— we— shouldn’t fear what’s ahead. You and I both knew how dangerous this would be going in.”

Hinata thinks about Iwaizumi’s words as he grabs his staff, following him out of the inn and back into the town. The notion of fate swirls around him alongside a deeper desire to move forwards, a pull in a direction he can’t quite place. The determination sparks a fire in his bones, an urge to continue, to fulfill the prophecy, to blaze a trail through the path set out before him. He slows his pace enough to watch Iwaizumi from behind, his official cloak billowing in the breeze. Hinata wonders if he could ever be that strong, that sure of himself. More than anything, he hopes that the weight of a kingdom can somehow balance upon their backs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IWAHINA BONDING HELL YEAH IM GAY!!!
> 
> see ya'll next chapter!!


	5. feral cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY WE'RE A DAY EARLY HAPPY VALENTINES DAY SINGLES AWARENESS DAY JUST A REGULAR DAY WHICHEVER YOU PREFER
> 
> just a heads up from now on we're gonna try for bi-weekly on sundays. this fic has become really big and important to us both and im so thankful for the feedback we've gotten. i adore hearing your thoughts and theories. thank you all so much for your support!

A day and a half into their travels, a hawk begins to follow them.

Hinata spots it while he’s watching the forest roll past— the horse drawing the carriage is quick on their feet, leaving the world a blur of greens. It’s only when he tilts his head to look up at the sky that he spots the bird, wings spread proud and wide as it soars above. Holding onto his hat, he leans further out of the window, watching with awe at as it swoops lower and lower, talons curled and wings flapping to a stop.

“Uh, Iwaizumi!” Hinata shouts as the bird disappears from his sight. He scrambles to move towards the drivers seat only to find Iwaizumi with his arm outstretched, the hawk perched there with a tied scroll in its beak. Scooting closer, Hinata watches as Iwaizumi takes the scroll from it, the hawk moving to sit nearby on the carriage as Iwaizumi unfurls the scroll.

“The Royal Order sends important messages by hawk,” Iwaizumi tells him without looking up, eyes scanning the page. “It’s from Kageyama.”

“The strategy guy?” Hinata asks, cocking his head. He considers peering over Iwaizumi’s shoulder to read, but decides against it, afraid that it’d be rude. He waits instead as Iwaizumi nods gruffly, rolling the scroll back up.

“Mhm, and there seems to be trouble,” Iwaizumi says. “He’s been tracking the Dark Mage’s worshippers for months now. It seems they’re more organized than we originally thought.”

“W-worshippers?” Hinata asks, entire body tensing as he leans back. “People _worship_ him?”

Iwaizumi nods, jaw set. “Moreso with the newer incarnations, but there’s always been _followers_ of sorts. They’re more absorbed with leeching off of the legend to cause their own problems, and aren’t actually associated with him, that’s for sure,” he grumbles. “They’re plenty worth being worried about. Kageyama writes that there have been midnight slaughters in small villages on the other side of the East river.”

Iwaizumi meets Hinata eyes at that, Hinata’s wide with surprise at just how quickly the oracle’s words have made themselves true. “So… we find them?”

“He’s located them already— Moonstone Cave. The dispatch is requesting I join them there,” Iwaizumi says. He tucks the letter into his pocket, whistling to get the hawk’s attention. As the bird flutters down to rest on his arm, he reaches into the cloth pack containing his food and pulls out an apple, letting the hawk pick at it for a few moments until it has had its fill. Iwaizumi strokes its feathers once before outstretching his arm, allowing the bird to take off and head out. “It’s not directly to do with the Dark Mage, but we’ll be helping out. I don’t doubt anyone will object to you being there.”

Still somewhat enchanted by how naturally Iwaizumi interacted with the bird, Hinata nods, shaking himself from his daze. “Well, if you were called in, we should go!” he exclaims. “If I can do something to help, I will.”

Iwaizumi chews on the inside of his cheek, hesitance clear in his eyes. “Hinata, I don’t doubt you’d be a great asset but… you’re the White Mage,” he reminds him. “Once they realize you’re there, their only goal will be to kill you.”

Hinata freezes. “Oh,” he says, voice small and blood running cold as the thought weighs on him. He’s their _enemy,_  and despite whatever connection he and Dark Mage may have, it makes sense they’d turn their knives on him. Taking a steady breathe, Hinata recalls everything he’s gone through to get here, the tales passed down he knows he’ll have to relive. “Well,” he starts, voice growing in size. “I guess I’ll make for some decoy, huh?”

Iwaizumi stares at him, gaze steely, but nods, not objecting to his decision. “Tread carefully, is all I can say,” he warns him.

Hinata salutes, ducking back inside of the caravan to sit down more comfortably. The trip has been uneventful thus far, mainly consisting of badly kept roads and lots of greenery. The forest here is different from that in Torino— more cedar, less birch. Hinata has had plenty of time to study the leaves from the window, reaching out to pluck some off of hanging branches and study with his hands. The one he pulled was large, bigger than his hand, round and a rich shade of green. A bug has nibbled a hole from its centre, large enough that when Hinata holds it to his face, he can look through, as if it were a peephole. Through it, he sees Iwaizumi, turned away, reins tucked aside as the horse trots at a steady pace. Hinata lowers the leaf, rubbing it between his fingers.

What lies ahead is a world that’s a stranger to Hinata, one filled with strife and people who hate him for being born into a title he’s yet to grow into. It’s scary— horrifying, even— that the Dark Mage seems worlds more powerful than him, has proved it in the stories passed through nearly every person Hinata has met. If there is any reason to get stronger, it’s not to out match him; it’s to become the person who can protect the people who need it.

In the end, he lets the leaf float back to the forest floor, returning to the earth. If he can only save one life, then it'll be enough. If he’s strong enough to keep the people safe, then his destiny will be fulfilled.

—

It’s mid-morning on the third day, Hinata itching to sleep in an actual bed and get out to stretch his legs. He’s taken to sitting up front with Iwaizumi just to have some company, legs dangling and wind tousling his hair as the carriage pushes forwards. The road they travel on is well tread, and they soon reach a fork in the road. A sign above the two diverging paths reads:

_Right: HATARAKEMURA_

_Left: KONEKO_

Someone has tacked on an extra board underneath, and in scrambled scrawl wrote _BRIDGE CLOSED INDEFINITELY._ Hinata turns to Iwaizumi to raise a brow in confusion, but the other only shrugs, tugging on the reins so that they veer to the left fork and head towards their destination. This road is still worn, but not as maintained. Saplings sprout from the ground along the sides, most of the path itself thick with vegetation that has been flattened over time. There are ruts in the greenery from other travellers who have passed through, yellow flowers blooming through the dirt, surviving despite being in the centre of an often travelled route.

It’s hard for Hinata to enjoy the scenery, however, with Iwaizumi tensing beside him. He notices it first in how his shoulders grow rigid, in the stiffness of his jaw. Hinata turns his way, scooching a bit closer. “Is something up?”

Iwaizumi purses his lips. “Somebody is watching us,” he says, voice quiet and low. “Or following us, for that matter.”

Something rustles, and Hinata whips his head around to the source of the noise only to spot a flash of something white through the dense foliage. Eerie silence is left in the wake as the thing in question seemingly vanishes into the trees, leaving Hinata and Iwaizumi to scan their surroundings.

“I don’t sense any dark magic,” Hinata tells him. It’s the truth, but it doesn’t make him any less anxious. For all they know, whoever is following them could be a bandit, thief, or a worshipper of the Dark Mage. Hinata has started to figure out there is more danger in the world than just his fated foe. Slowly, he reaches for his staff clearing his throat as he squints to see through the forest. “Hello! Is there someone there?”

There’s a few seconds of what sounds like someone whispering and rummaging in the bushes before something white and _tall_ barrels out of the forest, landing dead centre in the path. Iwaizumi yanks on the reign, causing the horse to whinny in protest as it very nearly runs over the figure. Hinata reflexively puts up a shield just as the figure straightens to its full height, much less threatening once they spot the white ears and the tail flicking out behind him.

“Who are you?! What’s your business here?!” he shouts, puffing out his chest as he crosses his arms. His demeanor changes in an instant once he spots the shimmering field in front of him, all of that pride evaporating into childish curiosity. His eyes sparkle as he grins wide in amazement, dropping his arms and laughing excitedly. “Whoa, that’s a super cool shield! You can do magic too, huh? Kenma, come see!”

Hinata flicks his eyes to Iwaizumi, who’s hand rests on the hilt of his dagger, eyes narrowed and suspicious as another figure slinks out from the woods, pushing down a hood to reveal blonde hair with brown roots and spotted ears. “Lev, you’re not supposed to reveal yourself like that,” he murmurs tiredly.

Hinata cocks his head, dropping his shield. “Are you two from the town Koneko?” he asks. They’re obviously werecats, sporting the same feline characteristics that Alisa had. “We were just on our way there!”

“Wow, really!?” the taller one— Lev— exclaims.

 _“Lev,”_ the other says, exasperated, face wrinkling. “We are. We were patrolling.”

“I’m Lev Haiba, and he’s Kenma Kozume!” Lev tells them, moving around the coach to approach Iwaizumi, who’s shoulders drop. “Oh, you’re a knight!”

“And you must be Alisa’s younger brother,” Iwaizumi says, some of his earlier apprehension leaving. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice before,” he adds, dryly.

Hinata lowers his staff fully, grinning as Kenma takes a hesitant step forwards. In one of his hands he loosely holds a red rod, twirled with something white and topped with a golden bulb. A light goes off in Hinata’s head as he realizes what it is, excitement taking over him before he can worry about scaring the boy off. “Hey, is that a wand?”

Kenma bristles, nodding. “It is.”

“I’ve only met one other magic user before, and she taught me,” Hinata tells him. “Oh! I’m Hinata Shouyou, and this is Iwaizumi.”

Lev opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by a tiny noise from Kenma. “You’re the White Mage, then,” he states more than asks, still not meeting Hinata’s eyes.

Lev very nearly jumps into the stratosphere out of shock. “What?! You’re the White Mage?!” he yells, eyes beaming with excitement.

Kenma shushes him at the same time that Hinata nods, not bothered by his enthusiasm. “Yep! We’re trying to cross to the other side of the river, but were told we needed to stop by Koneko first.”

“You can’t cross the river,” Kenma informs them, turning around. “The bridge is destroyed.”

“Wh-” Hinata sputters, caught off guard from the news. “Really? How?”

“We think it was ruffians, but there’s no telling really,” Lev huffs, crossing his arms. “That’s why we’ve been patrolling out here ever since, to make sure no one suspicious gets by.”

“Aren’t there boats?” Iwaizumi asks.

“No one will take you across.” Kenma speaks quietly, barely a whisper above the wind, but he seems sure of his words. “Not unless you have a good case.”

“C’mon, Kenma, he’s the _White Mage,”_ Lev says. “Plus, you’re some high ranking knight, right? My sister mentions you in her letters sometimes. You’ll be fine!”

Kenma sighs, shaking his head. “You can come to our town, but I stand by what I said. Only an idiot would cross the river with what’s happened.”

“We’ll find a way,” Iwaizumi assures him. “Do you want to ride with us back to town? You were headed there, were you not?”

Lev moves to scramble on, but Kenma reaches up and grabs the back of his tunic, forcing him to halt. “Only if you’re okay with it,” he says.

“We are!” Hinata tells them, scooting back into the inner caravan to open up the back for them. Lev gets up with ease, Kenma accepting his hand in getting in before sitting down, cross legged on the floor.

The ride to the town doesn’t take much longer, and is filled with a constant stream of one sided conversation of Lev’s part. Hinata can see his sister in him, from the cheekiness and the excitable nature to the same silvery hair and matching ears. Kenma is much more silent, closing his eyes and leaning against the walls, ears twitching every time Lev’s voice raises. Hinata wants to ask him about his magic, about his wand and what he can do, but holds himself back at the realization that he may be sleeping.

Koneko is much bigger than Shiratori. There are clusters of homes separated by cobblestone streets, winding alleys leading further into the sprawl of the town. Each home is fashioned out of different types of wood, some light and others dark, and every roof is coated in thick green moss. There are trees _everywhere,_  buildings built into the trunks of the bigger ones, windows even carved out of the hollow trunks to make hiding places. Everything is green, deep and lush, smelling of rain and wet soil in the best way.

Hinata peers out of the back as the make their way through, Lev giving somewhat understandable directions to an inn as they continue on. They pass by a busy market square and a few different shops, another line of houses and homes and a small structure in a patch of green grass. Hinata stifles a giggle at the sight of little cat-kids crawling up to the top, laughing and jumping off only to climb up again. It’s bright and friendly, and Lev sticks his head out the back to wave to people he knows as they pull up towards an inn and stable, the caravan coming to a stop.

Kenma hops out first, Hinata following suit. “There’s a town diner down the way,” he tells him, pointing down a well trodden path leading further into the town.

“You’re in time for dinner!” Lev shouts, close enough to Hinata’s ear that he jumps. Iwaizumi walks out from behind him, bags already balanced on his shoulder. “You should come eat! Everyone will wanna talk to you now that they know the White Mage is in town!”

He makes no point to quiet his volume, causing everyone in the near vicinity to turn their heads, eyes wide, whispering. Hinata, by now, has almost grown used to this. He nods excitedly in acceptance of Lev’s invitation, jumping up and down a few times to show his excitement. “We gotta unpack and stuff first, but sure! See you there!”

Lev seems content with that answer, bouncing away while Kenma watches, a sigh already falling from his lips. “I don’t want to try and get him back to work,” Kenma mumbles. His head has ducked down enough that his white hood has fallen overtop of his ears, obscuring most of his face.

“Could you show Hinata where the stables are?” Iwaizumi asks, bags still balances perfectly in his arms. He turns to Hinata, speaking so that he can hear. “I’ll get us a room.”

The two look over at Kenma, who raises his head only enough that they can tell he has nodded, albeit reluctantly. Iwaizumi leaves to enter the inn, somehow freeing a hand to pat Hinata’s shoulder as he passes. Hinata smiles before following Kenma towards the caravan, taking initiative to untether their horse. She nuzzles his hand affectionately as he leads her by the reign, Kenma silently waiting for him to collect her before moving on.

“So…” Hinata says, jogging a little faster to keep pace with Kenma. “You’re a mage?”

Kenma tilts his head, blinking once. “Yes,” he tells Hinata. “Most werecats are magically gifted.”

“Oh! I didn’t know,” Hinata muses. “Do you have a type of magic you like? My mentor really liked enchantment, but she was a witch. I don’t know if there’s a type _I’m_ really drawn to yet— it’s all so awesome, y’know?”

Hinata’s words hang in the space between them as they cross a boardwalk covering the width of a small stream. The trickling of the water and the steady _clop_ of the horse’s hooves keep the air from being too still as Hinata waits for a reply.

“I like illusions,” Kenma tells him. “But really I just do whatever I have to.”

They reach the stables, a humble wooden building with moss growing atop its roof. Kenma opens one of the empty stalls and steps to the side, allowing Hinata to guide the horse into it. In a small bucket outside are a few apples, carrots, and sugar cubes. Hinata grabs the former and lets the horse have a snack, giggling as she finishes it in mere moments. Despite the gentle atmosphere of the lush forest and the running water, something about Koneko unsettles Hinata in a way he cannot describe. It turns his stomach on an angle and makes his head a little dizzy, much in the way that the omens the prophecy described had left him.

“Hey, is there anything… _up_ around here?” Hinata asks Kenma. “Like, besides the bandits?”

Kenma just shrugs again. “Monsters. I had to make protective sigils along our town’s border,” he says. Something about his indifference seems solemn, beyond shy or nervous. “It doesn’t matter either way. Koneko is a trading post. As long as we survive, I don’t really care.”

Hinata pouts, biting his lip. It doesn’t sit right with him, not after all that’s happened leading up to this. The prophecy rings around in his head, plaguing his mind with worry. The ache in his chest pangs painfully; he forces himself not to grab it.

Kenma seems ready to drop the subject, already walking back across the boardwalk and away from Hinata without much else conversation. Letting out a squeak at the fact that he’s being left behind, Hinata rushes to follow, not wanting to get lost. Something isn’t right, but there’s not much he can figure out now. _I’ll ask around at dinner,_ he tells himself as he skids to a stop behind Kenma. _There’s got to be someone else with more to say._

—

Koneko’s diner is an outdoor pavillion on stilts, closer to the river than the rest of the town. The wooden floorboards have long since turned to grey, stained with green patches of moss and rotting at the edges. Streaks of red paint line the banisters holding up the roof, chipping but otherwise bright and almost glowing under the gentle amber light of lanterns strung along the perimeter. The steps up to the diner are steep (in case of _flooding,_ Hinata guesses as his foot nearly falls through a crack,) with no railings and little grip. Hinata supposes the entire town was built for people with much better balance than him, judging by how narrow they are. It doesn’t take away from the beauty of the place itself, lights shimmering, jars of fireflies illuminating the centres of long tables that stretch out to either end of the pavillion. Hinata looks back to Iwaizumi, half in excitement and curiosity, half in anxiety over where they’re supposed to sit. So many bodies have already gathered along the seats, and almost every head turns to them once they step up.

“Oho? What’s this?” someone from the crowd exclaims, pushing out their chair to stand up and walk over to them to get a better look. “The White Mage and the First Knight of the Royal Order! Glad to make your acquaintance!” His words are charming and respectful, but his tone is lighthearted and almost sarcastically teasing as he bows, quick and informal. His black ears twitch as he stands, barely noticeable in the mess that is his tangled black hair. “My name is Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m head honcho of this little town here.”

“No need for formalities,” Iwaizumi tells him. His voice is guarded, as it usually is with people he doesn’t know, but kind. “Iwaizumi and Hinata are fine.”

“I’ve heard about you already,” Kuroo says, waving his hand. “Come, sit! There’s food for the both of you to welcome your arrival.”

Hinata takes a step closer to the empty seats Kuroo gestures towards, apprehensively grabbing the back of the chair before sitting down. The sheer amount of people is intimidating as much as it is thrilling, head turned and whispering with laughter as he settles across from a familiar face.

“You’re here too!” Hinata exclaims upon seeing Kenma, white hood pushed away from his face.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Iwaizumi adds, taking his spot up beside Hinata. The chair creaks under his weight, old but still sturdy enough to hold as he sits down.

Kuroo, now sitting once more as well, grins. “Ah, I see you’ve met my fiance!” he practically shouts, head resting against Kenma’s until the latter's face turns red.

“Kuroo,” Kenma mutters, shoving Kuroo with lackluster force and a tiny smile.

Kuroo whines. “Kenmaaaa, we’re _engaged._ You don’t need to be embarrassed!”

Kenma pokes his cheek, turning away while mumbling _Tetsu_ under his breath. Kuroo laughs, a wide grin spreading across his face. Hinata’s heart flutters— it seems like a common act between the two, since Kenma doesn’t seem nearly as reserved or tense when Kuroo prods at him.

“So, what brings you to Koneko?” Kuroo asks, passing the plates along. “Never really thought the White Mage would end up around here.”

Hinata looks over to Iwaizumi, who looks back at him in wordless communication of what they should reveal. “We need to get to the west bank of the river,” Iwaizumi says, turning back to Kuroo.

Kuroo hums, an arm slung around Kenma’s shoulder. “Unfortunately the bridge is broken, so I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until it’s fixed.”

“B-but don’t you have a boat? Or something?” Hinata asks, sitting up straight.

At that, Kuroo laughs, shrugging with one shoulder. “Of course we have boats! We’re a fishing town, afterall. Good luck with getting someone to get you out of our territory, though. We’ve got fog obscuring the other side to deal with on _top_ of our current problem.”

“Which is?” Iwaizumi prompts.

“Political,” Kenma pipes up. He doesn’t offer to expand, leaving Kuroo to explain.

“Our friendly neighbours in the town of Hatarakemura have taken to intruding on our fishing grounds,” Kuroo tells them, rolling his eyes. “It’s not ideal when times are like they are now. We compete enough already without them breathing down our necks and tangling our lines.”

Iwaizumi crosses his arms and sinks back into his chair, a sigh escaping his lips. “So what, you get on their land and they’ll start a fight?”

“It’s nothing as uncivil as that,” Kuroo assures him. “I’d just rather not stir the pot while sitting on the council. Believe me, I’d take you across myself if I could. Hell, most people would if not for the conditions most of the time.” He pauses, quite literally, before his eyes light up, a cheshire cat grin making its way onto his face. “How about a compromise?”

“And what do you propose?” Iwaizumi asks, eyes narrowing.

“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. If you go over to Hatarakemura and convince them to stop intruding on our turf, I’ll take you across the river,” Kuroo says, splaying out his free hand. “What do you say?”

Hinata flicks his eyes to his left, staring through the bramble towards the East River itself. Already, thick layers of fog have begun to roll in, hazing the shoreline and creating a mysterious dimension within the trees. When he turns towards Iwaizumi, he’s met with a sure expression and a curt nod.

“Alright,” Hinata says, looking Kuroo straight in the eye and sticking out his hand. “We’re in.”

Kuroo claps together their hands in a tight grip, grin once again spreading across his face. “Good to hear,” he says, letting Hinata’s hand go a second before he loses circulation. He extends the same hand to Iwaizumi, who shakes firmly in return just as a serving tray is set in the centre of the table. “And just in time for the food. Might as well dig in now, with all of the business out of the way.”

Kuroo says this as Kenma and Hinata have already begun to serve themselves. Hinata is nothing if not _just_ pushy enough to get what he wants, and in this case, it’s the salmon piled high on the platter. There’s a uniquely homey feel to how everyone dives in for the food, bumping shoulders while they lean over. Kenma is quick to get in and out, sitting back in his chair far before Hinata manages to break free. In retrospect, he has never been to a place like this— Torino is much too small to necessitate places for community gatherings when everyone lives in one square. Here, though, the town seems to twinkle with life even outside of the pavillion. As Hinata stuffs rice and fish into his mouth, he looks over everyone’s heads to stare at the glowing lights of fireflies buzzing around, watching as kids jump for the bugs with terrifying accuracy. Across the table, Kuroo picks lonesome vegetables off of Kenma’s plate, Kenma unfazed as continues to eat.

“You said something about a council,” Iwaizumi states, setting down his utensils. “Are you the leader?”

Kuroo looks up, humming. “No, far from it. The town runs on unanimous voting, so its difficult sometimes, but it’s sound for keeping people with good intentions in. I just sit on the council and do the usual— getting people’s opinions. Power is balanced that way,” Kuroo explains.

“What about you?” Hinata asks, motioning to Kenma with his chopsticks. “Oh! Are you a guard? You said you were patrolling earlier.”

Kenma shrinks a little, shrugging. “I do what people ask,” he says. “I help out for something to do.”

His answer earns a somewhat exasperated, but mostly lighthearted, sigh from Kuroo. “You don’t have to be shy about it— Kenma is a regular consult for magic in the town. Everyone turns to him when there’s something out of sorts,” Kuroo tells them.

Hinata swells with excitement, a thousand questions already on the tip of his tongue. “Who’s your mentor?” he asks. “Are you self taught? How long have you been doing magic? You said you can do illusion magic, right? Can you show me?” By now, Hinata is practically leaning over the table in his haste, chair pushed out from under him.

Kenma shrinks into his jacket warily. “So many questions,” he mumbles. “Mostly everyone knows some magic. I picked it up when I was about seven. And it’s too busy to show you any illusions right now… maybe later.”

“I’m holding you to that promise!” Hinata says, sitting back down. Iwaizumi shakes his head somewhat as Kuroo laughs, head thrown back.

“You’re really something, huh?” he says between his laughter. “Keep that excitement— it’ll do you wonders.”

Hinata, thinking nothing of it, nods, returning to his task of shovelling food into his mouth. After so many days of travel, Iwaizumi is doing very much the same— though not as quick, Hinata guesses he might be on his third plate. Smiling as best he can with cheeks still stuffed, Hinata chases the warmth bubbling inside of him, the hope blooming in wake of days spent brooding over a prophecy woven from words he could never explain. It expands through his chest in golden waves, the music of laughter and chatter radiating a kind of safety Hinata has come to miss.

As soon as that feeling begins to spread, another takes its place, rooting deep in the centre of his chest. A pang shoots through Hinata, one hand reaching to grasp at his heart as he leans over slightly, breath short as something behind his lungs _tugs._  It’s as if an arrow laced with poison has pierced through his skin, as if every beat of his heart is carrying the ache to the very tips of his toes. It settles in his bones and makes his vision go fuzzy, if only for a moment, as he struggles to breathe.

A hand on his shoulder is what snaps him from his daze. Quickly, Hinata whips around to face Iwaizumi, jumping as if prey startled by predator. “Hinata?” Iwaizumi says quietly, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

Hinata drops his shoulders, letting himself relax. “Yeah, just zoned out there— maybe I should be heading to sleep for the night. We have a full day ahead of us tomorrow, right?”

Iwaizumi isn’t convinced— Hinata knows by now that the purse of his lips and the hardness of his jaw are tell tale signs of worry. However, he trusts him enough to nod, hand leaving Hinata’s shoulder, leaving Hinata missing something he can’t quite place.

“Are you two ready to turn in? I can escort you back to the inn, if you’d like,” Kuroo offers, raising his brows. Hinata can see his tail flick from behind, as if to jest.

Iwaizumi speaks, probably taking up his offer judging by how he and Kenma both stand, but Hinata doesn’t focus. Instead, he hones in on the dull ache still pulsating through him, still finding home in the cracks of his joints, in his throat. It’s unsettling, makes a stomach full of good food go sour as Iwaizumi helps him down the narrow steps of the pavillion and back down the path. He does, however, catch the flicker of Kenma’s golden eyes back his way. They shine from the afterglow of the lanterns, wide and observing more than Hinata understands. Fog licks at their ankles as the four reach the inn, goodnights said in a haze of confusion masked as sleepiness. Somehow, Hinata feels as if he’s been seen right through.

Far away from prying eyes, in a tower overlooking a rushing stream, the Dark Mage’s crystal fades back to black and clatters to the floor. The echo stays trapped in the confines of his stone chamber, but Hinata still turns, searching for the source.

—

Mornings in Koneko start early. Rays of sunlight push though the blinds of the inn long after Hinata has already woken, the chime of bells in the harbour a wakeup call more than an hour before. Surprisingly, Iwaizumi is still asleep, leaving Hinata to eat his breakfast in relative silence, walking back towards the stables to visit the horse since it’s the only place he can wander to and from without fear of getting lost. The fog from the river has yet to burn off despite the rising sun, still clinging in the shadows and rolling between the trees. Hinata does his best not to fall off of the boardwalk when the leaves above rustle, scaring him and breaking the relatively peaceful trance he was enjoying.

Swirling around, he tilts his chin upwards, barely catching a flash of white before it slips back into the cover of the trees. Hinata smiles, unafraid, and cups his hands to his mouth.

“Kozume? Is that you?” Hinata calls.

Kenma head pokes out from the trees, slowly, as if reluctant. “You don’t have to call me that,” he says. “Most people call me Kenma.”

Hinata tilts his head. “Really?”

“I don’t go around calling you White Mage,” he says.

Hinata watches as Kenma slips into a knot between two branches, back resting against the stump of the tree. His tail hangs down, rustling the leaves enough that a few drift down and land at Hinata’s feet.

“Why are you out here all alone?” Hinata asks, looking away so that he can watch his footing as he steps closer.

“I like it,” Kenma says. It’s simple, but true, evident in how Kenma’s shoulders are far less tense than before. “Why did you leave so early last night?”

It’s not a question Hinata expects, makes the now dull aching sensation all the more noticeable. Something about Kenma’s eyes, how they stare straight down at him from his perch, compels Hinata not to lie, even if his words come out in stutters.

“I— I felt uneasy. Like— I know it’s strange— but like something is gonna happen soon,” Hinata says.

“Something bad?” Kenma questions.

“No— maybe. I’m not sure,” Hinata replies, shaking his head. “It’s probably nothing to be worried about.”

Kenma blinks, cocking his head. “Well… if you say so.”

“Anyways!” Hinata shouts, stepping over rocks to get closer to the trunk of Kenma’s tree. “You said you'd show me some illusions, right?”

Kenma sighs, hunching over enough that his hair obscures most of his face. “Okay,” he says, almost hesitant. “I don’t know why mine would be any better than yours.”

Hinata opens his mouth to protest, only to feel something drip onto his head. He looks around, only to be forced to squint as rain splatters across his cheeks. Fat droplets roll off of his hands, and his clothes darken as they absorb the water. It’s a little odd, since it was sunny just moments ago, but Hinata still feels warm despite the water that trickles down his neck, doesn’t register the cold—

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening in realization. “This is your illusion.” A smile brightens up his expression as he spins, looking towards Kenma to see  his wand held loosely in his hand. “This is so cool!” Hinata shouts, waving his arms and watching as the raindrops bounce off of his skin.

The illusion slowly fades as Hinata continues to jump and spin, barely registering that the mirage has faded through his excitement. “Oh my gods, you have to show me how you did that! I haven’t _ever_ seen an illusion that real!”

Kenma blinks, slightly taken aback at Hinata’s enthusiasm. “Well… I guess I can,” he says softly. “All illusionary magic is is shaping the Fog into something that looks real. Sounds real. Is almost real enough to touch.”

As he speaks, a bird swoops down past Hinata’s head, only for each feather to freeze. It transforms completely into an icy butterfly, flapping and flying out of sight.

“I know what illusions are, but I’ve never been _that_ great at them.You can always tell with mine that they’re illusions,” Hinata says, voice filled with wonder. “I guess it’s because I’ve only been practicing since the snow left.”

Kenma looks surprised at that, eyes widening a fraction, but doesn’t comment on it. “You need to have more than a picture in your mind. I picture the illusion in the world, how it would interact with real life. It helps if you have a memory to base it on.”

“Then how do you make illusions of things you haven’t seen?” Hinata asks.

“You make it real in your head, imagine every single detail. Don’t try and control the Fog, go with it,” Kenma tells him. “It’s easier.”

Hinata nods, watching as Kenma shifts so that his legs dangle off of the branch. He’s watching with those piercing eyes again, and it takes Hinata a moment to realize he’s _waiting_ for something to happen. Taking a deep breath, Hinata sorts through his memories for something he could create. For some reason, it’s the image of the very first monster he faced, burnt into his mind in all of its ivory glory. A burst of fear grips his heart at the memory, but he closes his eyes and pushes through, imagining in detail the notches of it’s bones, the amalgamations of skulls holding it up. He recalls the black fire in the centre, recalls each terrifyingly large tooth, and just as it starts to becomes too much, opens his eyes.

He’s met with the exact vision that he was just picturing, snarling and snapping its jaws. Something is off, though— it wavers in its integrity, as if it was crafted out of nothing more than smoke. Even so, it’s eerily realistic, full size and taking up the entire clearing in front of the stables.

“Living bones,” Kenma whispers as he looks at the illusion, mouth agape.

“I-it still isn’t _real,"_  Hinata huffs, frustrated with himself. He furrows his brow, attempting to project his vision into the fog and have it clear up. Nothing more happens, but the illusion sways.

“It’s huge. You aren’t even straining after conjuring something of that size,” Kenma says. He’s leaning forwards, still balanced enough that he hasn’t fallen despite not even holding onto the branch. “You have a lot of detail. You lack clarity.”

Hinata drops the illusion, rolling out his shoulders and smiling up at Kenma. “That’s the best one I’ve done so far!” he exclaims, jumping up and down. “Can you keep teaching me? I wanna learn as much from you as I can! Not just about illusions, but all the other kinds of magic, too!”

Kenma turns his head away so that it becomes obscured by the leaves of the tree. “Oh,” he says softy. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“If you want,” Kenma says. Suddenly, he straightens, spotting something behind Hinata. Hinata turns around, noticing how he tensed, and spots Iwaizumi walking across the boardwalk, a bag of apples in his hand and a smile across his face.

“There you are,” he says, jogging through the brush to stand next to Hinata. He looks up, giving Kenma a small wave. “What’re you two up to?”

“Kenma was showing me illusionary magic!” Hinata answers, rolling onto the balls of his feet. “What’s with the apples?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “A snack for us and the horses we’ll take to Hatarakemura. Kuroo said if we leave soon, we’ll catch them when they get back from fishing.”

“Well, then let’s get going,” Hinata replies. He tilts his head back up to Kenma, shooting him another smile. “We can continue tonight, okay?”

Kenma sighs, but nods, sending Hinata a small smile back. “Okay.”

As Hinata and Iwaizumi leave on horseback, passing back past Kenma’s tree, Hinata swears he can see a flurry of birds diving down throughout the leaves. He smiles to himself, watching as Kenma disappears from view completely. There’s still so much for Hinata to learn— he’s the White Mage, but most people have been using magic much longer than he has. There’s no doubt in his mind that he wants to learn more than anything else, to absorb as much knowledge as he can. It’s his goal— to grow, to become _stronger_ so that he can protect people just like he’s supposed to. His chest swells, and Hinata can’t fight the smile that stretches across his face.

—

Hatarakemura is an hour’s ride on horseback. Iwaizumi and Hinata ride side by side, munching on apples as they head down the road towards the city. They’re not the only one’s traveling today— they pass a few others in the opposite direction who slow and wave, friendly and kind. It’s a little windy today, and Hinata spends most of the ride with one hand on his head to keep his hat from blowing away, his cape billowing out behind him. Even Iwaizumi’s cloak catches the wind, which in the heat of the late summer, is a welcome coolness.

Hatarakemura isn’t built within the trees as Koneko was. Instead, it takes up a large clearing, built upon the very shore of the East River. There’s a stable for them to tie the horses at near the front, leaving them to walk by foot through the crowds. By now it’s midday, and the fog still rolls off of the water in thick bursts. The townspeople don’t seem to mind in the slightest, laughing and carrying buckets and nets as the fishing boats come in. People have started to ogle at the sight of them, as they always do, whispering and pointing more towards Iwaizumi than anything. It’s harmless, and Hinata waves to everyone who stares out of need to respond to the attention.

“Kuroo said that we should try and talk to a Sawamura Daichi,” Iwaizumi tells him, looking around at the bustling streets. “We should start asking around.”

“You’re lookin’ for Daichi?” someone calls out. The two turn around to face a young boy, a few steps behind them. “He’s just gettin’ back from the water, c’mon! I’ll show you guys!”

The kid runs off through the crowds without much of another word, Hinata at his heels and Iwaizumi— caught off guard— a pace behind. The three weave their ways through the fishermen fresh off the boat, climbing onto the docks and following the child towards the edge where a small group of people stand, drinking from flasks and wiping the sweat from their brows. The kid calls out, causing one of the boys to turn, his expression changing as the kid runs to tackle his legs.

“Daisuke! What’re you doing?” the boy scolds. “You’re supposed to be heading to school.”

" _Daichi,_  a _knight_ and his friend in a witch hat are here and want to talk to you!” he exclaims, pointing wildly towards Iwaizumi and Hinata.

The boy— Daichi— widens his eyes, his friends whipping their heads towards them in suit. Hinata smiles, about to introduce himself beyond _the friend in the witch hat_ when Daichi bows quickly, reaching out to shake their hands.

“Sawamura Daichi! Forgive my brother— it’s a pleasure to meet you, White Mage! And you too—” Daichi glances up at the two of them.

“Iwaizumi is fine,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“You can just call me Hinata, too,” Hinata adds, blushing at the fact that he was so quickly recognized. Word spreads fast, but he could never imagine that it spreads _this_ fast.

The crowd around them murmurs, all activity at the docks at a standstill as they watch, Hinata now aware of the eyes on the back of his head. The fog is thicker here, not enough to really obscure his view, but enough to dim the brightened sun and to leave a small mist around them.

Daichi stands up straight, beaming them with a welcoming, friendly smile, crossing his arms in a proud manner. “What brings you two here?” he asks. “Whatever it is, we’re sure to help.”

Iwaizumi nods. “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry,” he assures him. “We came from Koneko with a message from K— the council.”

The mood suddenly changes, people rolling their eyes, a few huffing. Daichi’s smile becomes a little strained and worn out, his arms falling back to his sides. “So that’s why you’re here.”

“It’s kind of a long story!” Hinata cuts in, trying to save the mood. “We just need to get to the other side of the river—”

Daichi sighs solemnly. “I’m sorry, White Mage— er, Hinata. Unfortunately, no one is able to cross the river due to the thick fog,” he cuts in. “We’ve already had boats go missing.”

“We already have a ride, but it relies on you leaving Koneko’s fishing territory,” Iwaizumi explains slowly. He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “The boats went missing?”

“In the fog, yes. They probably lost sight of shore and landed somewhere downstream,” Daichi tells them. “It’s another reason why we… moved into Koneko’s territory. That, and there’s no fish to be found here.”

“No fish?” Hinata asks, cocking his head. “It’s a river, why wouldn’t there be fish?”

A few people in the crowd chuckle at that, Daichi rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d tell you if I knew, but I don’t. What matters to us is making ends meet and getting food on the table, so we’ll do what we have to.” His voice is commanding now, strong and confident. “We won’t go back to our fishing territory unless there’s fish there.”

“What if we figure out why the fish aren’t there?” Hinata proposes. “If we solve that problem, will you leave Koneko alone?”

Daichi looks back to the others, then nods. “Of course. It’s a deal,” he tells them. “I’d do it now if it didn’t risk the safety of the town.”

“Then we have a plan,” Iwaizumi says. “Do you have any ideas as to why the fish went missing?”

“At first it was more downstream, but the fish have been gone from our area for a while now. You can check the banks heading north for anything if you want somewhere to start. We never found anything, though,” Daichi says, bowing his head again. “Thank you again for your service to our town.”

“Ah, you can thank us later!” Hinata tells him with a smile. “C’mon, Iwaizumi, we should get looking while we’re here.”

Iwaizumi nods, giving a nod to Daichi and his brother, who beams up at them. Any goodbyes, however, are caught off by the sound of a woman’s cry, piercing through the fog and causing the crowd at the dock to turn their heads. Iwaizumi, Hinata, and Daichi are quick to push their ways over to the source of the noise. A woman kneels at the edge of the water, clutching onto a blanket as she cries, two fishermen soaking wet and shivering in front of her. Beside them is a boat, or what is left of one— the side looks clawed at, the back end is missing, and the sails are torn at the mast.

“What happened here?” Daichi asks, hand resting on the woman’s shoulder. She releases another sob in response, shaking her head and pulling away.

“We never saw,” one of the men whispers, voice low and grainy. “The fog downstream is too thick to see anythin’, we just felt the boat nearly tip ‘nd then…”

“They were just married, y’know,” the other man tells them, wringing out his shirt with a look of horror behind his eyes. “Her husband— I— I couldn’t save him. If I had been closer—”

“You may have died as well,” Iwaizumi cuts in. “No one should be heading downstream— not until it’s safe again.”

Daichi stands from where he was crouched at the woman’s side, helping her up. “Come on, I can make you three tea. You’re freezing, worrying here won’t help,” he tells them.

Hinata watches the entire scene, Daichi, aiding the woman down the boardwalk as silent sobs shakes through her, and the two fishermen, features empty from shock, eyes blank and cold. There is an indescribable terror from just witnessing her grief, in just staring at the wreckage of a boat, once large and sturdy, now creaking and falling apart. Suddenly, Hatarakemura moving into the Koneko fishing grounds seems much less of a punishable offense, especially when downstream carries the dangers of an unseen killer.

“Come on,” Iwaizumi says to him, hand a steady weight on his shoulder. Hinata looks up at him, taking in the stitch of his brow. “We should walk the riverbank while we can.”

Hinata nods, following him off of the dock, but not before taking one last glance at the wreckage. The deep cracks in its body, if he looks just the right way, look almost like _teeth._  It sends an unnecessary shiver down his spine, the haze of fog becoming all the more suffocating. He’s quick to scurry off and catch up with Iwaizumi, pushing back the image of the crying woman for another time, holding his hands close to his chest and praying to slow his racing heart.

—

The river bank is completely bare, the trees fading into soft grass before becoming nothing more than pebbles where it meets the water. It makes for an easy walk, despite the humid air which clings to their clothes. Hinata thanks his past self for choosing a tunic with short sleeves today, and even Iwaizumi shows signs of overheating, cloak tied around his waist. They’ve already stopped twice to catch their breath and get a drink, Hinata doing a quick curse check on the river water in vain— at the very least, magic isn’t the source of the missing fish. Between the weather, the exertion of walking, and the emotional turmoil of the earlier scene, it’s safe to say that they’re both exhausted and looking for some kind of lead.

“I didn’t think it would get this hot,” Iwaizumi mumbles, wiping his face. Hinata turns to look just in time to catch Iwaizumi’s dark, sweat slick skin transform into glistening green scales, reflecting the sunlight off in a thousand directions. He stops, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Do you mind if I take this off?”

Hinata shakes his head, realizing how much he craves a cold drink as Iwaizumi pulls his shirt over his head, his sculpted muscles moving underneath the layers of scales, each one knitted together and moving seamlessly. The scales on his stomach are of a lighter shade, darkening towards his collarbones and sides. They’re cool toned, and Iwaizumi seems to sigh in relief from taking off his shirt and letting them breathe.

Hinata coughs, his throat dry. “Maybe we should swim or something— I’m _dying,”_ he says, looking away. He berates himself for complaining just as a splash draws his attention elsewhere.

“Come on in,” a melodic voice chimes. “The water is almost as fine as _you.”_

Both Hinata and Iwaizumi whip their heads around to the water, Iwaizumi’s hand reaching for his sword at the same time that they come face to face with a creature in the water, upper body draped along a rocky shore. He’s got a pretty face and silver hair, but the most stunning part about him is the blue tail which flicks out of the water, shimmering in the sunlight.

“A siren,” Hinata breathes, caught in a daze staring at the creature.

“Mm, you’ve got a good eye,” the siren says. “I’m Sugawara, but you can call me Suga. Tell me your names, especially _you,_ handsome.” Sugawara points one long nail towards Iwaizumi, smirking and biting his lip.

Hinata turns to Iwaizumi, who seems taken aback. He sighs, moving a little closer to the water. “I’m Iwaizumi, and this is Hinata. Is this your cove?”

Sugawara hums, running a hand through his hair. “No, that’s nearby. What’s it to you?”

“Just curious,” Iwaizumi replies. He’s furrowing his brow now, thinking as the water grazes his shoes.

“Do sirens live in groups? I’ve never met one of you before!” Hinata says, following his curiosity. “I mean, I’ve heard stories, but most of them are about enchantment and death, which doesn’t sound that true.”

Sugawara laughs at that, tail splashing down against the water. “Enchantment is a maybe, but I don’t know of any sirens that kill humans anymore. That fell out of fashion years ago,” he says. “But yes, I live with a group— a pod, I guess. We just moved here from further downstream.” Iwaizumi and Hinata exchange knowing glances, a lightbulb lighting in their head as Sugawara continues. “Are you two new? I think I’d remember seeing such a pretty face.”

“I’m of the Royal Order, and Hinata here is the White Mage. It’s a long story, but… we need across the river, and we need to find out why fish are disappearing in Hatarakemura to get a boat,” Iwaizumi explains. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

Sugawara drums his fingers on the rock as he hums. “Maaaybe. We’ve gotta _eat,_ you know,” he says with a wink. “I’d invite you to dinner, but I don’t know if you’d have the stamina— to hold your breath, I mean.”  

Hinata feels his cheeks burn as he rips his eyes away from Sugawara, Iwaizumi sighing beside him. “Well, I can’t just ask you to _leave._ What made you come this far south?”

Sugawara huffs, whether it be from the lack of reaction from his advances or the subject matter is unknown. “Where the fish go, we follow. And _all_ the fish are headed this way after that… _thing_ showed up,” he says with obvious disgust.

“What thing?” Hinata asks, glad that Sugawara has stopped flirting long enough to keep a level head.

“Not sure, none of us have gotten a good look and lived to tell the tale,” Sugawara sighs. “One of the Dark Mage’s monsters is my best bet. It’s a big river, though— I’d say it’s near impossible to find, but then again, you _are_ the White Mage. In general, the water has gotten rougher too. Choppy, too cold. It’s _summer,_ you think it’d be warmer, right?”

“I don’t know, I’m plenty warm,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

“Oh? Sure you don’t wanna come join me, shimmer-scales? You know, blue and green look _lovely_ together.”

Iwaizumi presses a hand to his temples. “I’ll pass.”

Sugawara pouts. “Boo. Well, know the offer is open, if ever you want it,” he says. “In the meantime, you two sound busy— you think I could lend a hand?”

“You could help us find whatever chased you out of your home!” Hinata suggests, lighting up at the idea. “Then you can go back, and the Hatarakemura fishermen can leave Koneko’s territory, and we can get across!”

Sugawara grins, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Looks like a sweet bargain on my end. Hows about I meet you in Koneko tomorrow and I can lead you where my old home was?”

“Deal,” Iwaizumi says, nodding. “Thank you for your help.” His words are tentative for good reason— Sugawara replies with a blown kiss and a flick of his fin.

“My pleasure,” he sings, grinning ear to ear. “Safe travels, you two!”

With that, Sugawara slips back into the water, retreating into the depths. Hinata and Iwaizumi set back on the way they came, invigorated with their new lead.

The plan is relayed to Daichi when they pass back through Hatarakemura to get their horses, for prosperity's sake, before the two head back off to Koneko. Despite all of the progress made today, the looming suspicion of something _more_ bores down onto Hinata, makes his chest tighten and ache. Whether or not Iwaizumi feels it too is a mystery to him, makes the illogical tension on Hinata’s shoulders feel twice as heavy. As dusk rolls in, so does the fog, heat letting up just enough that they can breath, and enough so that Iwaizumi warrants putting back on his shirt. Hinata rips his mind away, searching for a distraction from his creeping paranoia, and settles on sleep after a long day of walking. If nothing else, it’ll ease his mind and clear his thoughts long enough to focus on the task at hand.

—

Though, it’s never as easy as that.

That night, he visits the Dark Mage in his dreams again. He’s pacing, restless, a fire crackling beneath his skin as he glances out the window, to the floor, to the crystal ball displaying the scene Hinata fell asleep to. It’s almost comforting, to feel as though someone is watching over him. It's as if the Dark Mage has become some twisted guardian angel instead of a wolf circling his prey. Hinata can almost pretend that they aren’t fated foes destined to destroy each other. It’s hard, though, when he can so clearly see the darkness in the boy's eyes. It crackles, the deep purple aura swirling around his lithe frame, billowing like smoke from a fire. The Dark Mage rests one hand on his crystal ball, staring down at the image of Hinata with hollow eyes and a hauntingly longing stare. His hands caress the orb, rubbing the blackened bits of it into colour, so gentle for a person corrupted to his very core. More than anything, he looks torn— between the window and the crystal ball, between two parts of himself Hinata can’t name.

He sees the way his hands tremor as he mouths words Hinata can't catch in this dream state. Visions don't make his hearing any better, and the way the Dark Mage mumbles can only be understood by the way it pulls at Hinata’s chest. He can’t explain anything about these meetings, about how they tug on an almost primal part of him which dictates his every move before he speaks. Hinata walks in circles around the boy, hand twitching to reach out and _touch._

The Dark Mage suddenly shoots up straight, frantic, as if fearing something neither he nor Hinata can see. He spins around with reckless abandon, one hand gripping the front of his shirt, the other clutching, white knuckled, onto the crystal ball. Hinata wonders what will break first: the orb, or the Dark Mage’s skin, pulled so tight over his bones. He’s shivering, fingertips lit with a dark, crackling flame that jumps from his hands as it travels up his forearms. Hinata winces, biting down hard on his lip as a deep burn ebbs throughout his own bloodstream, mirroring a pain Hinata can’t tell if the Dark Mage feels. His face with aloof, cold eyes dark and shadowed and fixated on the world outside of his window. Every part of Hinata screams to touch, to brush a hand to his cheeks, to douse the burning fire that threatens to consume him.

But Hinata can’t— can’t reach him, can’t touch him. The boy— the Dark Mage— can’t hear his cries, and all Hinata can feel is real world pulling him back. The image becomes hazy, like poor illusions through fog, and Hinata fights to make it stay.

_Nonononononononono—_

The Dark Mage turns his head, and Hinata freezes in place, those shadowed eyes staring right at him, as if he senses that he’s there.

_Don’t make me leave, don’t let me wake up— not yet, not yet—_

But the image fades, and Hinata is left with a burning hole in his chest where that gaze had fallen, eyes shooting open as red hot tears track down his face. He’s reaching for the first thing he can grab, clutching onto something solid, pulling it closer as he trembles, every inhale pulled through clenched teeth. His lungs spasm, and Hinata forces his eyes closed, as if that's the key to force himself back into sleep, back into that dream.

“Hinata— Hinata, you’re okay, you’re here,” a warm voice murmurs— Iwaizumi. “It’s just a dream. You’re here, you’re in Koneko now.”

Hinata opens his eyes, squinting as his eyes take in the light provided by the crackling fire. His vice grip on Iwaizumi’s arms doesn’t loosen, not even as he becomes more aware of his surroundings. Iwaizumi lifts him up, leaning Hinata back against the headboard of his bed so that he can breathe easier. It helps, if only a little. The bigger gift is that of the warmth, of knowing he isn’t alone, that someone is _there._

Slowly, as his breaths become less and less laboured, Hinata finds himself relaxing, his head lulling forwards to press to Iwaizumi’s chest, tears slipping down his cheeks silently. It’s then that he notices the texture under his hands— Iwaizumi’s scales against his forehead, against his palms. They’re smooth, softer than he imagined such armor could be.

“You were crying out in your sleep,” Iwaizumi tells him. His voice is low, as if speaking any louder would scare Hinata away. “I looked over and you were shaking. You— you looked like you were in pain.”

Hinata exhales shakily, a burn still present in his arms, a heavy ache still weighing on his chest. His cheeks heat up at the idea of Iwaizumi seeing him in such a state, and he pulls away wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Tha-thank you,” he stammers, voice quiet and throat tight. He finally brings himself to lift his eyes, to stare at Iwaizumi’s face through the moonlight. Green eyes glow in the dead of night, illuminated by the warmth of the fire. It’s as if the entire room has been engulfed by the woods, what with the trees that loom just outside of the window and the deep, forest green hue of Iwaizumi’s scales.

Hinata shivers, pulling the quilt back up over his chest. “I— I— thank you,” he whispers, as if what he’s about to say is a secret only for the two of them. “For being here.”

Iwaizumi blinks, a hand Hinata didn’t even notice leaving his shoulder. His eyes wander the room as he seems to think of what to say before looking back towards Hinata. “You know, you’re very strong, Hinata. You— after the fight with the vampiric flower, I was… shocked. Impressed,” he says.

Hinata tilts his head. “R-really?”

“Yeah. You were without magic, and you still fought until the end,” Iwaizumi tells him, nodding. “Your magic too— you use it differently than I’ve seen before. It may not be perfect, but it shines. And I think— your reflexes, your smarts— I think you’ve improved. You’re a lot sharper than I thought when I first met you.”

Hinata smiles weakly, cheeks warming. “You really think so?”

“Why would I lie?” Iwaizumi reasons. He pauses, looking towards the side, towards the window, fogged from the haze outside. “I trust you, Hinata.”

Words leave Hinata as he stares at Iwaizumi’s profile, at the steady rise as fall of his chest. Something about the sincerity of his words stuns him into a gentle silence, leaves him to replay what he had said over and over and over until his mind can process the gravity of that confession.

“I... Iwaizumi, what we’ve accomplished is because of you, too,” Hinata tells him, almost nervous and shy in the way he speaks. His fingertips fondle the edges of the covers as he watches through the fire’s light for Iwaizumi’s reaction, eyes still adjusting, unable to see. “You’ve gotta be the most amazing person I’ve ever met— I trust you, too. You’re genuine and _strong_ and— and— I really admire that about you.”

Iwaizumi looks sharply down, eyes widening a fraction before he looks up to meet Hinata’s eyes. There’s a kind of raw emotion in them that Hinata couldn’t name if he tried. It roots deep inside of him, pulls his smile wide through his tear stained cheeks. It feels like an eternity before either say anything, the ages stretching out in comfortable silence that is broken by nothing but their breathing— slow, almost in sync.

“Thank you, Hinata.” Iwaizumi’s lips curve, the gentlest workings of a smile playing onto his mouth. “If you’d like, I can teach you how to wield a weapon.”

At that, Hinata swells, excitement brightening his tired eyes. “Would you really?”

“I would have to find you a lighter blade, but of course,” Iwaizumi tells him. His smile grows enough for the whites of his teeth to show, sharp points flashing for a moment before hiding back behind his lips. Hinata closes his eyes, humming at the idea of him, training with what might just be the best swordsman in the country. He was never one to find swords that interesting, but something about being taught by Iwaizumi makes the task much less daunting.

A soft yawn slips form Hinata’s lips as he forces his eyes back open, only for them to fall again. Iwaizumi chuckles, shifting his weight so that his legs hang off of the bed. “You should sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”

Hinata hums, sliding himself down so that his head can lay on the pillows once more. He cracks open his eyes one more time to stare up at Iwaizumi, at the way he smiles as he reaches out to squeeze Hinata’s shoulder, how the moonlight reflects off of his scales. They shimmer— green and silver— otherworldly underneath the night sky. A soft sigh escapes Hinata’s lips as he pulls the covers up to his chin.

“Your scales… I like them,” he mumbles, blinking slow, eyes lidded with sleepiness. “They’re… pretty.”

And before he closes his eyes and slips back into sleep, he swears he sees Iwaizumi’s cheeks darken in a way that may or may not be possible. He’s too asleep to wonder if it’s real, eyes already shut by the time Iwaizumi is holding his face in his hands, staring down at Hinata with a kind of surprised fondness not alien, but new.

No more visions plague Hinata’s sleep that night. He does not see the Dark Mage again, doesn’t get to hear his voice. Yet, the ache inside of his chest remains, a second pulse living in his ribcage, pulling at his navel even after he is overtaken by the night.

—

Hinata wakes to birds echoing the same tune, much later than he had before— almost midday. Iwaizumi has already left, likely to prepare their things for later in the day when Sugawara arrives, but left a tray of eggs and fruit for breakfast. Hinata stretches out his arms and eats quickly, aware of the cool breeze blowing through the open window. It whips around the thick curtains of the inn room, enough that he’s forced to shut it so that nothing is knocked over. Dressing quickly, Hinata opts out of his hat as not to lose it in the strong wind, typing his cape tight around his shoulders as he grabs his staff and runs outdoors.

Knowing there’s time until he’ll need to be at shore, Hinata wanders back down the path towards the stables, humming along to the melody of the whispering trees, the leaves rustling loudly overhead. Fog creeps through the underbrush, but the sky is only dark enough to be a light grey. Hinata smiles, jumping over a few broken boards to reach Kenma’s tree, leaning onto the trunk as he cranes his neck to look for him.

“Kenma? You there?” he calls, jumping as if that would give him a clearer view.

“You know, I don’t live here,” Kenma says from behind him, making him jump. Hinata spins around, a grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah, but it’s kind of like a _you_ spot, isn’t it?” he asks. Kenma only shrugs in response, shrinking slightly under Hinata’s energetic response. “Can we work on illusions before I leave? Yesterday was really cool— I wanna see what else illusions can do!”

Kenma sighs, nodding slowly. Hinata buzzes with excitement as he pulls out his wand, holding it close to his face as he closes his eyes, concentrating for a moment. Hinata darts his eyes around, waiting for something to happen.

Unlike the other time, it isn’t gradual. Hinata blinks, and suddenly, he’s no longer in the forest, but in a cluttered living room. There’s a red rug and deep brown floorboards, a coach with golden paisley designs embroidered onto the pillows, tassels on each of the curtains. Hinata spins around, taking in the gentle green of the walls, how, in the corner, a pot sits on a wood stove, water boiling steadily. Plants hang in baskets from the ceiling, vines brushing next to Hinata’s cheek. In the centre of it all, Kenma stands, smiling softly, looking positively at home with his surroundings.

As soon as it came, it vanishes, Hinata left standing back on the boardwalk by the large tree. He’s too in awe to do anything but gawk, amazed at how, even if only for a moment, he was transported away. Kenma sits down in the grass, crossing his legs as Hinata begins to jump around.

“That was the best one yet! How’d you do it? It’s like I was _there_ — I couldn’t see the forest at all!” Hinata shouts.

“It’s the same as any other illusion,” Kenma tells him. “If you don’t have clarity, it won’t work at all.” He leans back onto his hands, tucking his wand back into his tunic. “Your turn.”

“Geh?” Hinata exclaims, caught off guard. “Already?”

“It’s too early to get tired,” Kenma says in explanation. When Hinata continues to stare at him in disbelief, he motions with his head. “Go on.”

Hinata bites his lip, holding tightly onto his staff as he scans his head for a familiar place. His first thought is of Torino— of home. He pictures his mother, Natsu— pictures the sewing room where all of their clothes were made. He imagines that the rustle of the trees is the steady _thump_ of wool being spooled, that sunlight filters through the wide bay window where all of Natsu’s storybooks lie. He remembers it in vivid detail, every inch, the stray bits of cloth, the loom displaying a finished blanket, the hand stitched pictures framed on the walls. The grass beneath his feet because blue carpet, and the trees take shape into walls.

The illusion itself wavers, but Hinata can’t see through anymore, can’t tell where grass ends and carpet starts. Some parts are harder to make clear than others— the window, in particular, swirls with fog— but the loom holds long enough to seem solid like the oak it was fashioned out of.

Kenma blinks, turning his head to take in the illusion. “Where is this?” he asks, hand brushing over the carpet.

“My mother’s sewing room back home,” Hinata tells him, a pang of nostalgia flickering in his chest. “We— me and my sister— spent most of the winter in there.”

When he says that, the window clears ever so slightly, enough that Hinata can catch a flurry of white outside. It soon fades back to fog, along with the rest of the scene, vanishing into nothingness and leaving them back where they started. There is one difference, however— a long, toothy smile, hanging mid air above Kenma’s head. Hinata rubs his eyes to be sure it’s _really_ there, before looking at Kenma with concern.

“Uh, don’t look now, but there’s— um— a _mouth_ above you?” Hinata says, unsure of what he’s seeing.

“Aw, you never seen a smile without a cat before?” a familiar voice teases. Hinata nearly jumps out of his cloak as Kuroo walks up from behind him, the illusionary smile replaced by the very real one plastered on his face as he moves to sit next to Kenma. “Sharing tricks of the trade, are we?”

Kenma’s ears flatten as a red blush spreads across his cheeks, his face turning into Kuroo’s shoulder. “Be quiet,” he commands, voice too muffled to sound threatening.

“We’re working on illusions,” Hinata explains, shaking off the spook from before. “Kenma’s really good!”

Kenma huffs, lips slightly tilted. “I’m not that good.”

“You’re just being humble,” Hinata says.

Kuroo chuckles, leaning onto Kenma even more. “No need to be modest, either of you,” he tells them. “Hinata, the boats are getting back about now. Iwaizumi is already down at the docks, if you want to choose a boat to take.”

Hinata straightens, adjusting his cape. “I should get going, then! Are you sure we can use one of the boats for free?” he worries, playing with the hem of his cloak.

Kuroo waves his hand nonchalantly, tail flicking behind him. “Eh, you two aren’t the type to go around breaking boats, right?” His eyes narrow, the teasing glint wiped off his face when Kenma’s tail smacks against his hand. He hardly jumps, but it’s enough to make Hinata feel a little less embarrassed as he gathers his things.

“W-we’ll take care of it!” Hinata shouts as he backs away, tripping over the boardwalk and stumbling. “Promise!”

The two wave back, Hinata turning around to hurry off towards the docks. The wind is stronger closer to the water blowing the seemingly endless amounts of fog across the shore. It takes Hinata fifteen minutes to figure out where Iwaizumi is, vision completely obscured. He’s only able to catch sight of him by the sound of his voice— when Hinata finally makes his way towards him, it’s to see him and and an older woman leaning up against a ship, making small conversation. The woman is quick to welcome Hinata into the conversation, handing him a small bun with a toothy smile before nodding to them both and moving away.

“She’s very soft spoken— let us use her boat, too,” Iwaizumi tells him. He’s got his armor on, polished to a shine and reflecting what little light gets through the dense fog around them.

“Has Suga arrived yet?” Hinata asks, walking alongside the boat, fingering running along the body. It’s humble in size, fashioned from sturdy wood painted red.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “No, I think it’ll take awhile for him to swim here. Hatarakemura’s fishing grounds looked busy yesterday— last thing he’d want is to get tangled in a net.”

Hinata hums in response, reaching the edge of the dock. The water sloshes in small waves against the wood— the wind hasn’t made the waves choppy enough to be dangerous yet at least. He picks a piece of his bread off and takes a bite, still hungry even after breakfast and delighting in how it melts on his tongue. The oppressive humidity of the day before is lessened at the shore, but even so Hinata finds his breaths laboured, opting to untie his shoes and dip his feet into the water while they wait. Iwaizumi soon joins him, watching as water licks their ankles and sends chills up their legs. It’s cool— refreshing, but not comfortable to swim in by any means.

“How close are we to the ocean?” Hinata asks, curious. It’s common knowledge that the East River is the largest body that feeds into the sea, but he’s never expected to end up anywhere near it, let alone where it travels.

“Not close at all. We’re still fairly central,” Iwaizumi explains. “The water is even colder the closer you get. The end we’re closer to is fed by glaciers though, which explains why you’re shivering.” Hinata huffs out a laugh, pulling his feet from the water before they go blue. When he looks down, he notices that Iwaizumi’s shins are scaled.

“Are there icebergs in the east?” Hinata wonders aloud, crossing his legs.

Iwaizumi has to think on that for a moment. “Not usually,” he answers. “Only if they drift. The western sea is notoriously cold.”

Hinata hums, taking another bite of his bread. He swallows hastily, sighing contently as he leans back. “It’s so cool that you’ve travelled so far. Everywhere I go is another step further than I’ve ever gone before.”

Iwaizumi smiles at that, legs kicking idly amongst the waves. “You’ll see much of the country soon enough,” he tells him.

“What’s your favourite place?” Hinata asks. “That you’ve been, I mean.”

Iwaizumi stops, caught off guard by the question. He furrows his brow, gnawing on his cheek as he thinks. “I think… the West Forest.” He pauses, as if reminiscing. “It’s where I grew up.”

“People always say it’s dangerous now,” Hinata comments. “Pretty, but dangerous. There was a merchant who came from that area and said it wasn’t easy to live off of.”

Iwaizumi laughs at that, deep and rumbling in his chest as he shakes his head. “For some, I suppose so. Not for me.”

Hinata smiles, looking up to meet his eyes. “Tell me more about it sometime, yeah?”

Iwaizumi nods, returning as he closes his eyes. “Of course,” he tells him. “Anytime.”

They stay silent like that for another few moments. Something about Iwaizumi’s presence holds him steady, even as the waves drag across their feet. It’s grounding while surrounded by water, makes the time pass quicker when it’s now filled with small stories passed back and forth, back and forth. Hinata is the one to break that peace, though, a question bubbling up from his throat before he can stop it.

“Hey, Iwaizumi?” Hinata asks.“D’you remember the prophecy? That part about _green knit scales_ or whatever?”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders tense up, but he quickly rolls them, twisting his torso to face Hinata. “Yes, I do,” he replies. Everything about him screams apprehension, from the carefully chosen words to a neutral expression on his face. “Is— is there reason you’re asking?”

Hinata swallows the knot that begins to form in his throat and shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck as he flicks his eyes away. “It’s nothing, really! Just it’s right after a line about death… and uh— ocean coves and stuff,” he stammers. He brings his gaze to meet Iwaizumi’s, those slit pupil eyes still waiting for him to finish. “I just… was wondering what you think. You’re kinda hard to read at times.”

Iwaizumi blinks, eyes widening at that as if surprised. His lips part slightly, but he closes them, long nails tapping against the dock as he chooses his words carefully.

“Well… it has danger before it, so my first thought was some kind of monster,” Iwaizumi tells him. “But I don’t know how deadly it could be. I certainly haven’t heard of anything in the river yet.”

Hinata nods, looking down at his hands. “That’s true. It’s just… I was thinking… y’know, _you_ have green scales, and— not that you’re like, a monster or gonna be the death thing! But it’s a bit of a coincidence, huh?”

Iwaizumi’s brow furrows, and he turns back out to the road ahead. “I’m not sure anything is coincidence. Not coming from an oracle, at least.”

There’s truth in his words, that the oracle contains some kind of mystery neither of them can fully comprehend. Hinata leans forwards, biting back a yawn as he rests his elbows onto his knees. “I— I meant what I said, though. Last night, I mean. Your scales are pretty,” he tells him. Before Iwaizumi can reply, he stands, yawning for real this time. “I should sleep before we head out— can you wake me when Suga gets here?”

Iwaizumi is tentative in how he nods, but his face is calm, composed. “Save your strength. We don’t really know what’s waiting downstream.”

Those are the last words they speak to each other before Hinata curls up in the belly of the boat, atop one cushioned seat, cape pulled over his shoulders like a blanket. There’s a chill in his spine not just from the air, lingering still from the night before. Even with it trailing through his bones, he manages to find rest, eyes closing long enough for sleep to tide him over until the afternoon. It’s only then that he’s awoken by a loud splash, boat rocking as Sugawara rests his elbows atop the edge.

“Hatarakemura fishes all day, it seems,” he sighs, chin resting on his forearms. “Sorry for being late. Hey, handsome, come join us!”

Iwaizumi sighs from nearby, stepping into the boat as he shakes his head. “You’re not late at all, but we should take our leave, if you’re alright with that. It’d be best to not have to travel at night.”

Sugawara’s tail splashes out of the water, flicking droplets over Hinata’s head to land on Iwaizumi. “Sure thing. I’ll stay near the surface so you can follow me. Think you can keep up?”

Hinata takes a spot near the bow, staff gripped tightly in hand as Iwaizumi begins to row. “You know, I can use magic to push us along if you want,” he offers, looking back to Iwaizumi. “Or at least make the water more cooperative.”

“We have the current on our side, but I’ll take you up on that going back,” Iwaizumi tells him. Sugawara has already ducked back under water, popping up a few feet ahead, drifting so that his scales shimmer beneath the surface as they move on. Hinata shuts his eyes, taking in the sensation of the wind blowing gently against his face, through his hair like a thousand gentle hands caressing his scalp. There is beauty in this moment, in the echo of water lapping at riverbanks and every push and pull of the oars. When he opens them to look out again, Koneko has disappeared from view, the port obscured by fog as their boat rows along, Sugawara always a pace in front of them.

“My ma was from the ocean, but she said river waters are much warmer,” Sugawara tells them as they go along. “It’s pretty deep, you know. Deeper than you’d expect— there’s all kinds of canyons and trenches down at the bottom I haven’t begun to look at.”

He rolls onto his back, letting the current pull him along instead of swimming. His face is less carefree than it has been, smile exchanged for something tenser, almost scared. “I wish we could go back to our old cove, though. But once rumours popped up about things dying, there wasn’t a choice.”

Hinata’s pulse quickens in his ears, something lurching in his stomach. His grip on his staff is tight, grip on the boat’s rim tighter, white knuckled and hard enough he feels the wood under his nails. Something buzzes inside of him— a warning bell, a push forwards despite how his stomach wants to pull away. Iwaizumi watches him from behind, only able to make out his worry from the hunch of his shoulders, the way his eyes scan the foggy water with an increased feverish intensity. He reaches forwards, letting the current steer them, and squeezes Hinata’s shoulder. It’s a quiet sign of reassurance even when there’s no threat to be seen, an intuitive touch that allows Hinata’s shoulders to drop, if only for a moment.

Then, out of seemingly nowhere, Sugawara begins to sing.

 

_“There once were depths that we called home,_

_But we left more than years ago._

_From ocean depths far below,_

_Something awoke in the water._

 

_But what lies in the deepest depths,_

_Has stolen one too many breaths._

_Now we dive for what we have left,_

_Off scholls in foreign waters._

 

_For all the sea has gone to sleep,_

_With only drowning fates to meet._

_Taken by the fog which creeps,_

_In the frigid water.”_

 

Both Hinata and Iwaizumi listen, the operatic tone of Sugawara’s voice echoing off of the water, silencing any other thought that could exist. Hinata finds himself drawn in, leaning over the edge of the boat as the song finishes, Sugawara slipping back under the water before he can say something.

“A siren’s song,” Iwaizumi whispers behind him, voice hushed.

“Is— is that a good thing?” Hinata asks, turning around, staff held tightly in his palms. It’s only then that the words of the prophecy echo back onto him, stunning him into silence as his eyes widen. “S-Suga?” he calls out, jumping when Sugawara breaches the water next to him, eyebrow raises expectantly. “What was the song you just sang?”

Sugawara hums. “It’s an old tune. The lyrics have changed over time, though,” he tells them, voice indifferent as he scans their surroundings— or lack thereof. “Has the fog gotten thicker? We’re just about there now, but there’s no use if you two can’t see a thing.”

Iwaizumi furrows his brows, setting down the oars. Though he and Hinata may not have noticed the transition, the fog has noticeably gotten worse, enough so that the foot between him and Hinata is almost too much to see through.

“How much further?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Not far at all— another minute of travel and you’ll be on top of it,” Sugawara tells them. He looks worried now, lip pulled between his teeth as he dips down and out of the water. “I should head back to the new cove. I wouldn’t want to risk getting tangled in some fisherman’s net while it’s dark.”

“You’ve led us this far, thank you,” Iwaizumi says, jaw still set, shoulders still tense. “We’ll be able to make it back.”

“Even in this fog?” Hinata asks.

“We have a compass. For now, burning it off is our best bet,” Iwaizumi says.

Sugawara smiles, slapping the side of the boat with his tail. “Then I’ll be off. Good luck to you both.” With a one handed wave, he dives down below the water, leaving a ripple in his wake and Iwaizumi and Hinata alone.

Hinata busies himself creating a ball of light, letting it hover above their heads as Iwaizumi continues to row, pushing them along. It’s hard to tell they’re moving at all— the only signs are the rock of the boat and the swirls of the fog around them. It weaves around Hinata’s light as if it were water. Hinata squints, half out of confusion, half to even see, and changes the energy into fire. It crackles white hot in the air, burning up the fog around it, but all of the empty space becomes filled with thicker fog in an instant.

“This can’t be normal fog,” Hinata murmurs. “It feels… wrong.”

He turns to face Iwaizumi, only for the back end of the boat to be completely obscured from view. He huffs, scooting onto the closer bench so that he and Iwaizumi can see each other, face to face. He’s not expecting Iwaizumi to have set down the oars, to see scales coating his whole body and his shoulders tense.

“I agree. There’s something out here,” he warns Hinata. “We’d best be on our guard.”

They press their shoulders together, Hinata growing the flame and pulling it closer, hoping that at the very least, it’ll provide light. All traces of the sun have vanished, and if not for the sound of water lapping against the boat, Hinata isn’t sure if he’d be able to tell they’re still on the river.  His throat begins to knot itself, stomach twisted from the inside out, every nerve ending screaming in anticipation for something neither he nor Iwaizumi can see. It’s almost a relief when Iwaizumi reaches out one hand, pointing off into the distance in front of them.

“Look,” he whispers. “There’s something there.”

It takes another moment for Hinata to see what Iwaizumi is pointing at— something dark, round, and growing. He rises to his feet, the boat rocking, _lurching_ beneath him. He flicks his eyes down to his feet, then back up to the figure, only for it to have grown ten times in size, stretching in every direction as if to consume them.

“It’s a wave, Iwa—!” Hinata shouts, cry cut short by the sheer force of the water smacking into him. He gets a lungful of air before going under the swell, staff cradled to his chest as his body is tosses through the current, ragdoll and limp. His body screams in pain as he forces his eyes open, his small magical flame still crackling underwater, providing enough light to see through the murky darkness around him. The surface is too far away to see, so he kicks in the direction he’s pointed, doing his best to follow the currents. It’s when he notices a sinking figure in the water that his priority shifts from simply staying alive, and he freezes.

Iwaizumi drifts a few feet below, struggling futilely, armor weighing him down. His scales shine under the water, and in any other situation, it would be beautiful. Now, it’s harrowing, Hinata’s chest seizing as he grips his staff and pushes back against the water surrounding him. It responds to his command, currents shifting shoot straight down and encircle Iwaizumi’s form. With a jerky pull of his staff, Hinata moves the water towards him, carrying Iwaizumi close enough that he can grab onto his hand. He tugs him close, the current now swirling around them both a second before Hinata catches something out of the corner of his eye.

It’s large, larger than the living bones or any monster he has ever seen. A mouth adorned with a million razor sharp teeth snaps in the place he once was, glinting with malice before fading back into the depths, Hinata and Iwaizumi shooting upwards with the force of the water. Hinata’s entire body shudders, something inside of him squeezing as if to wring out his heart. He quickly turns away, black dots begin to overtake his vision just as the surroundings grow lighter, just as they breach the surface of the river.

Terror still gripping his body, Hinata raises his staff and has the water continue propelling them. They pass wooden boards painted white, all but splinters floating in the water, their boat a casualty to the wave. Hinata’s grip on Iwaizumi stiffens, and he inspects his face— cold, unmoving. Something rips through him— a memory of the woman keening at the docks, reaching for a person she’ll never see.

Newfound emotions coursing through him, Hinata grows the flame still hovering above his head until it’s almost too bright to look at, throwing out his last trick in effort to clear the fog. It works— for a fleeting moment, he spots Hatarakemura’s shores, boats lining up at the docs and people milling about without worry. With another push, they’re pushed onto land, Hinata rolling off of Iwaizumi and grabbing his cheeks with his hands.

“Iwa— Iwaizumi! Can you hear me?” he shouts, staring down at his closed eyes a lax lips.

 _There has to be something I can do,_  he thinks to himself, looking down at his hands. _Would I be able to heal him?_

Hinata bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood, shaking his head. There’s no time to worry about lack of practice when Iwaizumi has yet to stir. One hand reaching for the staff, he spreads a palm onto Iwaizumi’s forehead, squeezing his eyes shut as tears mix with the water already dripping down his face. He wills every single power within him to be transferred to Iwaizumi, to lift open his eyes, to grant him the strength to take another breath. This magic aches in a way the others haven’t, in a way that could almost be described as a pleasant buzz if not for how Hinata’s body trembles.

Then suddenly, white light engulfs them, a glow radiating from his hand for a split second, so bright he snaps open his eyes to see what he’s done. By the time he can adjust, Iwaizumi is rolling onto his side, coughing water up onto the sand. Hinata nearly collapses in relief as Iwaizumi heaves, breaths choppy and laboured but _there,_  tears flowing heavy at the fact that he’s still alive— that he managed to save him.

The shouts of fishermen realizing their arrival is background noise for now. Hinata can only stare down at Iwaizumi’s face, hand on his shoulder, watching intently as he breathes, eyes lulling between opened and closed. Hinata doesn't want to focus on the thought of what would have happened if he thought before he moved, if he were a second too late in pulling away. There is a monster in the deep, he now realizes, and the towns of Koneko and Hatarakemura are in more danger from what lies in the water than any feud that could ever spawn.

Yet, none of that matters right now— not for Hinata, at least. What matters is that Iwaizumi lives and breathes and regains life in his eyes, becomes strong enough to sit up and look out at the river, soaking wet and freezing. Hinata hasn’t often had the chance to do big magic before. He can count on one hand the battles he has fought, could name each time he blew someone away with his abilities. But to Hinata, no enchantment or spell could ever be bigger than saving a life.

Beside him, Iwaizumi coughs. “I guess we’re even,” he says, voice gravelly and rough.

Hinata turns to him, cocking his head in confusion. The heavy footsteps of help are growing quickly in volume, their careful quiet slipping away. “What do you mean?”

“I saved you when we met,” he explains, eyes closing again as his fingers push into the coarse sand. “You saved me.”

Hinata blinks, having almost forgotten that day. “Even,” he repeats softly, spotting Daichi running towards them in his peripherals.

Iwaizumi smiles, a light laugh escaping him despite the fact his lungs were just filled with water. “Even.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're heatin up.... if you have any questions, comments, or theories, feel free to comment down below or hit us up on tumblr @mooksmookin or @spacegaykj!
> 
> next update will be on March 4th! look forward to it!


	6. stratagem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we had to split the chapter up, which is why this chapter is really short compared to the others. i hope y'all are able to enjoy it nonetheless! so without further ado, here's chapt 6!

“So, what did you say happened?” Daichi asks. He’s already draped Hinata in four blankets and shuffled them inside of the closest building— the harbor’s registration, check in and supply store. The old couple running it provided them with chili and hot tea, which Iwaizumi profusely thanked them for, warming them from the inside as Daichi grills them for answers.

Iwaizumi, who has hardly spoken since Daichi arrived, clears his throat, setting down his mug. “The fog got thicker, and then there was a wave— thirty, thirty-five feet. Nothing would stand a chance.” He groans, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “Damn, I’m sore. Nearly drowned under the weight of my armor.”

Carefully, he begins to remove the plates of armor from his body, standing up and using his chair as a prop. Hinata’s bowl burns his freezing hands as Iwaizumi unhinges and disconnects the pieces, revealing black under clothes that are peeled off in an unceremonious fashion. Hinata looks down at his chili as Iwaizumi shucks off his tight black pants and curls up into the blanket he was given, sitting back down in his chair. Even with the blanket draped around his shoulder, his skin is on full display— strong calves fading into thick brown thighs, bare chest curled in as he hunches in on himself for warmth. Hinata dares to look back up to catch his teeth chattering despite his attempts to mute it, mug pressed to his lips. Behind him, the fireplace pops, and Hinata contemplates putting on another log so that Iwaizumi can stop shaking.

“I got— I brought him back,” Hinata stammers, doing his best not to stare. “With, y’know, magic, ‘nd stuff but—” he freezes, unsure how to continue. He hasn’t even told Iwaizumi about the meeting with the creature in the water, isn’t even sure what the thing could’ve been. Taking another long sip of his tea, he collects himself before explaining. “There was… this _huge_ monster. Its— its teeth were bigger than me, I think. And it tried, um, to snap at me. I think it caused the wave but... yeah. I— we got away.”

Iwaizumi and Daichi’s eyes don’t leave him, both of them stunned into momentary silence. “You don’t— you don’t think it’s…” Daichi says, trailing off as his brows tighten.

“It has to be one of the Dark Mage’s monsters,” Hinata tells him. “I— I know this. That fog— it’s not fog. It isn’t normal at all. None of this is normal.”

“We need to all get together and think of a plan —” Iwaizumi starts, but is cut off by Daichi shaking his head.

“If I may, it can wait until morning. You almost drowned, and you’re both freezing. I can take you back to Koneko myself, or you can find a spot at an inn here— either way, you _need_ to rest,” he says, voice forceful and sure.

Hinata opens his mouth to protest, only for Iwaizumi to place a hand on his knee, nodding. “Thank you. You’ve been a great help to us,” Iwaizumi says to him. His voice is still as strong as ever, but there’s a kind of weariness behind it Hinata hasn't heard before. “A ride back would be appreciated. Kuroo and the others should hear about this, too.”

Daichi nods, taking a stand. “I’ll pull up a caravan and get you both some dry clothes,” he says. “I’ll be back.”

Neither Iwaizumi nor Hinata speak in the time that Daichi is gone. The lull in conversation is less comfortable, as Hinata has come to expect it, and more tense, as if the two of them are waiting for another ambush, waiting for something else to attack. It drains Hinata in a way even excessive magic couldn’t, drains him from the inside out until the lack of adrenaline leaves him begging for sleep. By the time Daichi arrives with warm clothes and a ride back, Hinata is dozing. He rests his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder the entire ride, only kept awake by the jostling of the caravan and the image of shining teeth aimed for his skin, glowing eyes piercing through the water, and Iwaizumi— unmoving.

He’s half awake when he relays those images to Kuroo and Kenma, still leaning onto Iwaizumi, unable to process their reactions through his drooping lids. In the end, his memory stops there, walking back to the inn after telling Kuroo and Kenma that a murderous beast threatens their town’s safety, the guilt of ruining a boat so small next to the responsibility of slaying its destroyer.

—

Morning comes in shades of orange, creating a powdery haze through the fog. Hinata wakes to a silent room, coals in the fireplace cooling, no sign of stirring. He sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes as he gathers his clothes to get dressed. Iwaizumi sleeps soundly in his bed across from Hinata, blankets wrapped tightly around his shoulders, face pressed into the pillow. Carefully, Hinata moves closer, taking note how he’s still coated in scales, how, if not for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he’d be as still as a rock.

Hinata smiles fondly, finally pulling his eyes from Iwaizumi’s sleeping form to grab his cape. It’s dry now, having spent the night hanging by the fire. The comfortable weight of it on his shoulders calms Hinata’s nerves, but does little for the growing ache in his chest. If he ignores it hard enough, he can pretend it’s just a bruise and not a weight that makes every step feel like ripping off a bandage. If he pretends enough, he can forget that it upset him that he didn’t dream of the Dark Mage last night.

Koneko is in between shifts at this hour. Hinata wanders through the sleepy streets, vacant until the fishermen come back with their catches. Between the canopy of trees that block the sky from view and the fog that still rolls in from the water, light is a scarce thing, coming only from the glow beyond the haze and the lights inside people’s homes. The stillness of the air that, at one point, was comforting now suffocates him as he wanders through the streets. Maybe it’s the ache that makes everything seem _wrong_ — the chest pangs and heart palpitations that happen when Hinata least expects it.

 _Maybe,_ he thinks, kicking the dirt after stumbling over a gnarled root in the middle of the road, _everything is wrong because of the monster._

He doesn’t want to dwell on the sheer size of the thing that attacked him, nor does he particularly feel like delving into the endless cycle of _what ifs_ that come alongside just grazing certain death. The more he thinks about it, the heavier his chest grows, until the ache has spread to his fingertips and toes and left him grappling for some semblance of normalcy. In that moment, he squeezes his eyes closed, folding in two as he heaves, expecting to rest on the side of a large oak for awhile.

The world doesn’t work in Hinata’s favour— not now, at least. The moment his eyes close, he sees something else: the view from a window. Stunted pines twist like broken bones that never healed quite right, rain washing out a stream below. The sky is dark, black, menacing, and when Hinata’s eyes are forced back open, he can hear the crackle of thunder in the distance as if something didn’t want him there.

There’s nothing more Hinata wishes he could do than grit his teeth, grin and bear this pain, the way this connection, this _pull,_ toys with his mind. But Hinata has never worked like that. A part of him pities the Dark Mage the way he might pity food on his plate, and just the thought twists his stomach in ways that make his knees weak. He has a task, a _duty_ bestowed on him by not only the king, but fate herself. The idea of _risking_ it because he feels bad for the person on the other end should be appalling to him. Somehow, it isn’t. Somehow, through the echoing words of _monster_ and _murderer,_ Hinata cannot see the Dark Mage as the champion of the creature which nearly took his sister’s life, nor can he see him as the child who killed an army.

Hinata only ever sees another boy, a boy in pain, a boy in torn finery with darkness clouding his head. Something unnamed inside of him yearns to hold the boy close, to feel the heat of his skin, to feel his breath on his neck when held tightly. Even dreaming of that spikes guilt deep inside of him, confuses him to no end as he tries to name the feeling brewing. He grasps for the fleeting image of the Dark Mage just as he begins to fade from his mind, finding himself wishing for just a moment longer to look at his face.

—

By the time Hinata feels well enough to make his way towards the diner, the town has woken up again. Iwaizumi already sits at one of the tables, alongside Kenma and Kuroo, with a platter in front of them that the three pick away at, no one really seeming up for eating. Hinata sits down where a fourth untouched plate lies, smiling even though his head is pounding. If any of them notice something out of the ordinary, they make no move to acknowledge in, exchanging good mornings and pouring Hinata a drink as he picks away at the food.

“Hinata,” Iwaizumi says quietly. Kenma’s ear twitches, so his effort not to be heard is in vain. Still, Hinata appreciates the gesture. “Are you alright?”

Hinata smiles again, nodding quickly as he shoves a piece of bread into his mouth. “Mhm, yesterday got to me, is all,” he responds before washing it down with scorching tea. Everyone around the table coughs, looking down worriedly. Even though it was a half truth on Hinata’s end, they all seem to understand.

“So,” Kuroo drawls, stirring his coffee with a spoon. “Should we just go straight to Hatarakemura then? You seemed adamant last night about this thing and I still need a full story.”

Hinata purses his lips, shaking his head. “I still feel like we’re missing something,” he says, frowning down at his food. “But that could just be me.”

“No, we can always know more,” Iwaizumi says. “We were meaning to check out that bridge— the one that’s collapsed. Could we before we leave?”

Kuroo shrugs. “Be my guest. There’s still fishermen out there, but I gave them warning not to stray too far,” he tells them. “Mind yourselves out there— the wreckage isn’t the safest.”

Iwaizumi nods, Hinata staring across the table at Kenma, who has yet to speak. “Can you show us the way?” Hinata asks.

Kenma looks up, blinking as if surprised Hinata had addressed him. He doesn’t move for a few long seconds, but when he does, it’s to nod, already standing. “Okay. Let’s go, then.”

Kuroo turns around to grab Kenma’s hand, squeezing it as the three gather their things. “Take care, darling,” he purrs. Kenma’s ears twitch as Kuroo kisses the back of his hand, cheeks flushing red.

“Mhm,” Kenma responds, as if he is too flustered to say anything else. Kuroo seems used to the reaction and lets their hands slip away as Kenma heads out, Iwaizumi and Hinata at his heels.

Iwaizumi lacks armor today— Hinata wonders if it’s too heavy, too soon to adorn it after yesterday’s events. The cloak of the Royal order is draped over his shoulders, body armored instead with gleaming green scales that stretch as far as his neck. Hinata isn't sure how far they really extend. The day Iwaizumi took off his shirt, they went all the way down his chest, but that was in the heat. Now, do they only cover his vitals, his limbs? Is there a reason why, when Kenma is here, that he leaves his face free?

Hinata makes note to ask if he ever musters up the courage. For now, they follow Kenma down a narrow forest path walking in single file in relative silence. It doesn’t take long for them to meet the main road, twice as large as the one they took to either Koneko or Hatarakemura. It’s clearly unused, ruts from wheels filled in and grass growing untouched in the centre.

“How long has the bridge been out?” Hinata asks, spinning to take in his surroundings as he walks. The break in the canopy of trees here lets him glance towards the sky. He’s met only with grey clouds, threatening to pour.

Kenma chews his lip as he thinks, ears flattening out. “A few weeks, I guess,” he answers. “It was one of the only points to cross.”

“The only one, actually,” Iwaizumi comments. “The East River is much too deep for support beams and too wide for a straight across bridge. The magic used to maintain it took a lot on both sides.”

“So why did you all assume it was ruffians?” Hinata asks, looking between the two. “I mean, the average ruffian wouldn’t be able to get through something like that, right?”

Iwaizumi looks to Kenma as well, tilting his head awaiting a response. Kenma sighs. “Does it matter?” he mumbles. “It’s destroyed either way.”

They’re cut off from any further questioning by coming across the bridge in question— or rather, what’s left of it. Hinata runs towards it only to skid to a stop, a ten foot splinter of wood driven into the riverbank in front of him. It’s not only that— large chunks of the bridge’s wooden body have washed up across the shore, creating spines in the sand and sculptures out of driftwood larger than Hinata. He and Iwaizumi walk carefully between the wreckages, watching the sand for anything sharp enough to hurt them. Hinata reaches out to touch the side of one of the larger pieces, only to drop it upon noticing how the wood has splintered into daggers. There’s no semblance of unity to any of it, no signs that each of the pieces once fit together, that they were once a part of a bigger whole, let alone a bridge. Hinata wrinkles his nose. Whatever destroyed it did more damage than he thought.

“Hinata,” Iwaizumi calls, brows knit together. Hinata perks up, turning around to where Iwaizumi stands, hand pressed flat against one of the largest chunks. “Look at these.”

Hinata jogs his way, approaching him from behind to see what has caught his eye. It’s impossible to miss what Iwaizumi was referring to. Six lines have shredded through the board, each groove sunken deep into the wood and pulled all the way to its bottom. Each one is enormous in size, big enough that Hinata could slip his entire hand through if he really wanted. Confused, Hinata shakes his head.

“They almost look like—”

“Teeth marks,” Iwaizumi tells him. “They’re teeth marks.”

An image of the boat, torn to shreds and floating in pieces, surfaces in Hinata's mind. He remembers the gashes in what manages to survive, remembers the thousands of teeth shining underneath the water. A chill runs down his spine, and Hinata snaps back to reality, whipping around to Iwaizumi.

“The thing— the monster. It did this,” Hinata tells him. “It broke the bridge.”

Iwaizumi immediately turns to Kenma, who, judging by the turn of his ears in their direction has been listening the entire time. “We should meet with Kuroo and Daichi as soon as possible,” he says, voice set and strong. “Now, preferably.”

They make the trek back to Koneko in tense silence, Hinata playing with the hem of his cape as they make their way closer and closer back. There’s isn’t anything to anticipate besides the complete unknown, masked in fog, lurking in the deep. The image of the monster's mouth beneath him, its glowing eye boring into him, burns through Hinata’s chest. He is the first one see it and tell the tale, the _only_ person with a knowledge of just what lurks in the depths of the East River.

Kenma manages to explain the need for haste in one sentence and a long glance, which sends the four of them off to Hatarakemura. Hinata grabs his staff before they leave, taking one small comfort in the familiar balance of the knotted weight in his hand. It’s something to grip on, at the very least, when his anxiety grows as they approach the neighbouring down.

The residents of Hatarakemura give them odd stares as they make their way through. The feud between the towns must be well known, Hinata figures, if their stares of confusion are anything to go by. Or maybe it’s just the sight of two werecats, a royal knight, and the _White Mage_ asking for Daichi and waiting in terse silence that caused them to exchange glances. Either way, Hinata can feel their apprehension growing tenfold when Daichi finally catches up to them, ushering them into a nearby building to speak.

“You mean the creature that attacked you two is responsible for the destruction of the bridge?” Daichi asks after Iwaizumi explained their theory.

Hinata nods. “It’s probably what caused your boats to go missing too,” Hinata says. “Or— uh— probably why they’re not all in one piece. The fog— it’s not real fog either. It’s dark magic.”

“Dark magic?” Daichi asks, face going slack.

“To hide,” Hinata explains. “My guess is that whatever is out there is creating the fog and using it as a cover.”

“How are we meant to combat that?” Daichi mumbles.

“I can dispel it,” Iwaizumi says. “My sword was enchanted to ward off dark magic to a degree— the jade in the hilt should be able to get us by.”

“But what about the residents? We need to fish,” Daichi asks.

“We’ve stopped allowing boats out, but that can’t go on forever,” Kuroo adds. “You know as well as I that both our towns wouldn’t be able to survive.”

“You need to tell the townspeople,” Hinata says, looking out the window towards the people milling about outside. He worries his lip, turning back to face the others

Daichi tenses. “That may not be the best idea.”

Confused, Hinata narrows his eyes, but Kuroo interrupts with a sigh. “He’s got a point. Telling the townsfolk that there’s a giant river-monster hellbent on destruction right outside their doors will just cause panic.”

Hinata’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back. “I— what, so you expect them to just _not_ know?” he asks, looking between Kuroo and Daichi. Beside Kuroo, Kenma shrinks, averting his gaze. “You’re saying we should lie?”

“That’s not what he means,” Iwaizumi tells Hinata, voice hesitant. “The residents are already scared, and telling them while we’re still unsure how we’re going to deal with it will do more harm than good.” Hinata whips around to face Iwaizumi, releasing some of the tension held in his shoulders. “We hardly know what we’re up against.”

Hinata bites his lip, looking to the ground and nodding hesitantly. “I… I understand,” he says, voice strained with anxiety. “Then— then let’s make a plan.”

“So soon?” Daichi asks. “I don’t mean to question your judgment, but shouldn’t we wait?”

“And risk more deaths?” Hinata questions, frustration flaring in the form of sharp tone.

Iwaizumi nods. “It’s true. With each day we spend waiting, the creature can wreck more havoc.”

Kuroo shakes his head, collapsing into a chair. “So, plan it is. What’s the goal? Kill it? Scare it off?”

“Do we even have the resources for that?” Daichi asks. “We don’t even know what the thing is.”

Iwaizumi and Hinata turn to each other, approaching a dead end. Hinata huffs— he could use another show of magic like he did when he first discovered his powers. By now, he may not be comatose for that long. If he is, he’ll be defenseless, and leave the others with a deadweight to carry.

“First, we need a boat,” Iwaizumi starts. “A sturdy one, preferably that won’t tip easy.”

Kuroo looks expectantly to Daichi, shrugging his shoulders. “Your boats have always been larger, since you net fish,” he says. “Got anything that might work?”

Daichi stops to think, crossing his arms. “I need at least three days for repairs on it so that it won’t be as unbalanced, but—”

Hinata opens his mouth to argue, only for Iwaizumi’s hand to rest on his shoulder, steadying him. “We can work with three days.”

Silence falls over the room as they all pause, unsure of what to do next. Hinata’s word is all they have, the remnants of broken boats and bridges the only proof of the capabilities of the monster they’re about to face. Tension breathes thick as Hinata balls his hands into fists, racking his brain for some way to help.

“It’s a fish, isn’t it?”

Everyone turns to Kenma, who has moved to stand behind Kuroo’s chair. When no one speaks, he continues. “It’s a fish, so you catch it.”

“You can’t catch this,” Hinata tells him, shaking his head as the images of teeth, glistening white and twice his size flash before his eyes.

“Then harpoon it,” Kenma mumbles, tone exasperated as if the answer was there the entire time. “If people bring down sharks, we can bring down this.”

Kuroo sits upright, ears jerking up. “We’ve got firing harpoons— you could attach them to the boat,” he says to Daichi before turning back to Kenma, grin spreading across his face. He grabs his fiance’s hands, squeezing them. “You’re a _genius,_  thank god for your brain.”

Kenma blushes, tearing his eyes away to look towards Hinata as if to seek validation in his idea. Hinata stops, picturing a boat with weapons along the bow, with Iwaizumi’s sword and his magic— for a moment, it seems almost _easy._

“That— that could do it.” Hinata nods, pushing his earlier frustration away, latching onto their ragtag plan. The five stand in otherwise silence, anticipation growing despite their little breakthrough.

“What are we waiting for?” Iwaizumi asks. “We need to get going.”

Daichi excuses himself hastily to search for a boat while Kuroo drags Kenma off in the other direction to find harpoons. Iwaizumi and Hinata are left by themselves to wander back to Koneko. Even despite their invigorated moral, Hinata can’t help but worry, heart seizing in realization of the amount of  lives that lay in their hands.

“Will this really work?” Hinata asks Iwaizumi. His voice surprises him in how tentative it sounds, so unlike him. Iwaizumi replies with a nod— tough love, an anchoring reassurance that does nothing to still the churn of Hinata’s stomach. “I just don’t… I don't want anyone else to be hurt.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Iwaizumi tells him. “And you aren’t alone in protecting them. Don’t forget that.”

Hinata looks up at him, at how Iwaizumi’s brow stays firm but his eyes soften. He shows stress in a way that looks as if he’s lived a hundred years, that makes Hinata feel less than alone, makes him feel warm in a way that rests alongside the ache in his chest. Together, they walk back to Koneko, knowing that if anything, they have each other.

—

Dinner is a strange affair. Iwaizumi skips it in favour of meeting with a few locals to build a small boat. Hinata feels guilty that he didn’t repay the woman who had lent hers to them after it was destroyed, but luckily Iwaizumi remembered to. As kind of a gesture as it is, and as much as Hinata assured him it was fine to go, he misses Iwaizumi’s comforting presence amongst the lively attitude of the Koneko diner. Any other time, he’d love it. Even now, he finds himself laughing at Lev’s expense when one of his higher ups— Yaku, he thinks his name was— catches him slacking off on his duties, but doing so leaves a strange tension in his throat. It’s as if his momentary happiness lies on a spring pulling not-quite taunt, swaying enough that at any moment, it could fall out from underneath.

It’s all not to mention the ever growing ache in his chest, how it throbs and squeezes when Hinata least expects it. Even the oracle’s words, which seem all the more dangerous now that they have meaning, take a backseat to the sheer sensation he can no longer ignore. The feeling has all of a sudden become a part of him, something that he carries in the pit of his chest without even understanding why.

After scarfing down whatever food he could keep down, Hinata excuses himself. The one thing he needs now is a break from his thoughts— the planning, the ache, the Dark Mage and his monsters. Hinata stumbles down the narrows steps and makes his way back through the town. Tonight, it rains, a steady drizzle adding to the thick layers of fog which paint the green forest grey. Hinata’s hat keeps the water off his face, but his arms aren’t quite as lucky. They’re chilled to the bone and covered in a thin coat of rain by the time Hinata has trudged through the path and into the town’s streets. It’s much harder to navigate when every oak looks much the same, where even the houses with enough character for an entire village are dulled by the fog. Hinata squints, hoping he’s taking the right turn, and stumbles on.

It isn’t until he hears a heavy sigh that he stops, turning around for the source of the noise. Up until then, the rain was the only real thing he could here.

“What are you doing?” a voice calls, equal parts confused and tired.

Hinata does a half turn, squinting through the rain to spot Kenma standing on a sheltered porch, mug in hand. “I’m heading back to the inn!” he shouts back. “Or, at least I’m trying.”

Kenma rolls his eyes as he shakes his head. “You’re going to freeze,” he says, turning around. “Come on.”

Hinata pauses for a moment in confusion before realizing he’s meant to follow. Quickly, he scrambles up the steps of Kenma’s porch, only tripping twice, and follows his tail inside. The room he walks into is homey, but more than anything, familiar. There are potted plants hanging and soft green walls, red rugs and golden clasps around curtains that all take Hinata a moment to recognize as he looks around. It’s when he spots the kettle boiling in the corner that he’s able to place it— the living room from Kenma’s illusion. _His_ living room.

“There’s tea,” Kenma says, motioning with his head to the kettle. “Try not to drip onto the couches.”

Hinata jolts, stopping himself from wringing out his cape. “Um, could I get a towel?” he asks sheepishly, removing his hat and setting it down on a wooden chair holding an empty flower pot. He toes off his shoes and turns around, immediately greeted with the sight of Kenma already holding one when he turns around, eyes neutral to Hinata’s surprise. As he towels off the water, Kenma pads back across the living room towards the kettle, removing it from the heat as it hisses and pouring it in a small cup. Satisfied that he’s no longer dripping, Hinata sits down onto the couch with golden palsies, sinking into the cushions as Kenma walks back over, handing him a pottery cup steaming with tea.

“Oh, thank you,” Hinata says, quickly taking it and nearly spilling some over on his hands. He brings it up to his nose to smell the earthy scent of spices, enjoying how it warms his fingers as he waits for it to cool. “Not just for this, y’know. For letting me inside too.”

Kenma blinks, curling into the armchair across from him. “Oh,” he says. “You would’ve gotten sick.”

“Which is why I'm thanking you!” Hinata exclaims, a smile rising to his face. He sighs, pulling his knees to his chest and shutting his eyes for a few moments. Kenma seems content with the silence, allowing them to both rest with only the gentle drone of the rain hitting the window to echo through the room. It’s homey— more homey than Hinata expected of Kenma. Still, it suits him in a way that he can see. A large wooden bookshelf is pressed into the corner, overflowing with titles on magic Hinata can picture Kenma reading in his tree. There are other influences too— odd knick-knacks of fish and various other animals lined up where there’s free space, drawings pinned onto the wall above the kettle, picturing the town, the river, and the trees.

“Your house is warm,” Hinata says, still interested in the pictures. “Do you draw?” he asks, turning back to Kenma.

Kenma shakes his head. “No. Tetsu does,” he says, taking another sip of his tea. Kenma seems much more relaxed here, the same way he was when they were at his perch by the stables. It draws Hinata’s mind away from the worries of impending doom and towards other questions that have been lingering in his head.

“So, you and Kuroo, huh?” Hinata says, smiling. “You’re kinda funny together, but you seem like a good match.”

Kenma shrugs, looking down at his tea. “We grew up together,” he tells him. “Getting— getting married feels… right.”

Hinata hums. “Sounds romantic.”

Kenma snorts. “Tetsu is romantic,” he tells him. He pauses, before continuing. “He— we started going out because he slipped up and told me he loved me a day before his grand plan.”

“His grand plan?”

“To bring me out onto the river at night and give me flowers,” Kenma mumbles. “He still did it.”

The ache in Hinata’s chest tightens. He ignores it in favour of finally taking a sip of his tea, relishing in how it warms his bones as he swallows. “He sounds genuine,” Hinata says fondly. “You’re lucky to have this life together.”

At that, Kenma tenses, curling further into himself. “I just want to keep things how they are now. If I could pretend none of this was happening, I would,” Kenma sighs, speaking into his cup. “I don’t know how you keep fighting.”

Hinata sits up, setting his cup onto a book on the end table. “But aren’t you worried for the town? For Hatarakemura?”

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “I’m not like you,” he says, speaking quietly, gently, as if to a child. His ears flatten out, and his eyes soften as he continues. “I’m selfish. I don’t have anything big worth fighting for.”

Hinata blinks, surprised. It takes him a moment to think of a response, but when he does, he smiles wide, shocking Kenma enough that he looks up, ears twitching in curiosity.

“I’ll show you there’s something you’re fighting for!” Hinata promises, standing up. He nearly slips, but maintains enough composure to continue smiling surely, Kenma relaxing ever so slightly as he looks up at him.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says. “But— okay, I guess.” With that, his lips quirk into a smile of his own, brightening the room as the rain lets up enough not to drone.

“I should get back to the inn before all the light is gone,” Hinata says, reaching for his hat. “Thank you for everything Kenma.”

Kenma nods, closing his eyes. “Make sure to close the door tightly. Rain will get in.”

Hinata smiles, pulling back on his shoes as he shuts the door behind him. The ache has yet to subside, but the tension of the day has left his shoulders, leaving him light enough to wander back without a clouded head. For a second, the weight on his chest almost feels _pleasant,_  as if it could be something he could get used to. But that moment passes as soon as his heart pangs, a sharp pain giving way for a reminder that the weight is still another entity he’s yet to tame.

—

The second day is nothing more than a waiting game of rocking back and forth and trying to still the jitters in his hands, body already pumped with anticipation. The rain has subsided, but the clouds remain dark, leaving Koneko shrouded by a gloom Hinata can’t seem to shake. There’s a certain kind of bitter taste to watching the townsfolk walk by none the wiser, unknowing to the danger they may have to face. They’re apprehensive, if anything, but not scared, not fearing the depths like Hinata is now.

“At least they aren’t panicking like I am,” Hinata mutters to himself, kicking a stray rock. He’s wandering the town, having nothing else to do and no other way of exhausting the seemingly limitless supply of energy he has.

“Trying to distract yourself?”

Hinata jumps, spinning around to see Iwaizumi walking towards him. He’s not wearing much— pants and a simple top— and the scales that cover his skin are slick with a layer of water.

“Oh— uh— I guess,” Hinata answers, rubbing the back of his neck. His chest is tight enough it could burst, so he isn’t doing a good job.

Iwaizumi nods understandingly. “It’s best not to dwell on choices you can’t change. Either way, the outcome will only be affected by what you do next,” he tells him.

 _Wise,_ Hinata thinks, somewhat in awe of how calm Iwaizumi has managed to stay. “Where are you headed?”

“Back to the inn. I need to write a letter for the main force at Moonstone Cave explaining the situation and confirming that we’ll both be there,” he says as they begin to walk in stride, heading back the way Hinata had came.

“Are you gonna send it by hawk?” Hinata asks, half out of genuine curiosity and half out of a need to tear his thoughts from impending doom for a moment.

Iwaizumi bites his lip, looking up at the sky. “I’m not sure if any are flying this way, but it’d be best to. At my rank, I’m supposed to send any official message that way, though it isn’t always practical.”

“Geh? _Really?_ How do the hawks find you?” Hinata wonders, taken aback. “They can’t hear you from anywhere, can they?”

At that, Iwaizumi chuckles. “No, they can’t. They’re trained by magic users to respond to a call and set out into the wild,” he explains. “They can’t live in the desert, or in much of the west forest in the winter, though. Otherwise, it’s a good system.”

Hinata nods, still stuck on the fact that Iwaizumi’s place alone requires him that level of respect. It’s why he’s caught off guard when Iwaizumi puts two fingers to his lips and whistles a three tone song, letting it echo out through the town. Hinata stops in his tracks, looking at the tree tops with curiosity, looking for any sign that he was heard.

“I can hear one coming,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Watch your hat— they tend to swoop down.”

Hinata furrows his brow, not hearing anything, but follows Iwaizumi’s advice. He takes a step back as Iwaizumi outstretches one arm, about to comment on how that may _hurt_ when a sharp _screech_ breaks the silence, a huge bird diving down and landing on his arm. Iwaizumi doesn’t so much as flinch as its talons close around his forearm.

“Whoa,” Hinata says, voice quiet as not to scare it. “That was quick.”

Iwaizumi smiles, softly pulling the corners of his cheeks up. “They’re well trained,” he says. “We should get going— write the letter and such.”

They make good time on their way to the inn. The hawk sits on the ledge of their window while Iwaizumi busies himself with pen and parchment, the scratch of his scrawl being the only noise in a too quiet room. Now that the initial shock has worn off, Hinata’s anxiety has creeped back in, taking the form of an uncomfortable stillness that settles in his bones and makes his skin feel too small. Iwaizumi is quick to send off the letter, only having to say a single word to the bird before sending it off, back out to the skies and back into the wild.

He leans out of the window as the bird becomes all but a dot in the sky, watching it go with his chin propped onto his hand. Hinata watches him tip his head and spots a leather necklace fall from his shirt, hanging against his chest. It’s weighted down by a small pink crystal— one Hinata instantly recognizes as the one he gave to him in Shiratori.

“Oh,” Hinata notes, smiling as warmth bubbles in his chest. “You made it into a necklace!”

Iwaizumi looks to Hinata with confusion before glancing down at the necklace against his chest, his eyes widening as he realizes Hinata has noticed it. His hand instantly flies up to cover it, gaze flicking down as he plays with the stone. “I didn’t want to lose it,” he mumbles, tucking it back into his shirt.

Hinata hums, but doesn’t come up with a response. This is where Hinata would usually talk, would fill the empty space with questions and chatter. Today, though, he seems compliant in silence, in praying that the silence stays comfortable instead of tense, praying Iwaizumi won’t mind his company if it’s in quiet.

It’s after a few minutes that Iwaizumi sighs, more out of content than boredom, stretching out his shoulders. “I’m going to head down to the diner and grab food. Do you want to come?” he asks, looking back towards Hinata expectantly.

Hinata shakes his head, stomach twisting. He can't bring himself to work up an appetite now, insides tangled in ways that leave him wanting nothing but a closure he can’t seek. “You can go, I’ll be fine,” he promises him, weak smile rising to his face.

Iwaizumi nods, tentative. “I’ll bring you some back,” he tells him. “I shouldn’t be long.”

“Take care,” Hinata calls as he leaves. His voice lacks the brightness despite his volume, and as soon as the door shuts, he collapses back onto his bed, eyes falling shut as his head hits the mattress.

The unexplainable weight on his chest swells, pulling at his sternum as he rolls onto his stomach. There’s nothing more he wants to do besides sleep until the boat is ready and banish this feeling to another plane, to skin himself of the ache which burns so deep inside him and has been since he woke up from two week’s rest. There’s no other word for it but confusing, _frustrating._ It toys with his feelings and makes a mess of what he thinks he knows— despite how unfamiliar the sensation is, he can’t help but feel like it belongs inside him. It’s only worsened by remembering the monster in the harbour, or the Dark Mage from his dreams.

Hinata tears his eyes open as he begins to remember the expression on his face the first time he saw him, the anguish, the _pain._ He raises one hand, sparking a flame and sending it off to float above his head, white and crackling, swirling lazily in the air. It doesn’t require much effort, and his thoughts continue to drift.

With a huff, he expels the magic and focuses on an illusion— something small. A small black cat appears out of nowhere, walking along the air before lying down above Hinata’s feet. The clarity of his minor illusions have been improving steadily, due mostly to Kenma’s guidance more than anything. The cat doesn’t waver, so Hinata tries something trickier— a wolf. It’s pearl white coat rustles as if blown by the wind as it stalks across the room. To his unfortunate surprise, it’s no harder to keep clear than the cat.

Hinata sits up, hunching over his knees. He goes to sigh out of boredom, only for an entirely different feeling to rip through him. An ache crumples his chest, leaves him inhaling too sharp for just having risen. His illusionary wolf turns its head to stare at him, and sniffs the air— looking for something, as if it isn’t just magic held together at the seams. Hinata doesn’t notice the idiosyncrasies of his creation, too focused on how the moment air begins to rush back into his lungs, he’s faced with the memory of the Dark Mage once again.

It’s a fleeting thought at first— one along the lines of _I want to see him_ fueled by something he can’t name. Then, his hands are twitching, and the wolf is fading, and every muscle in Hinata’s body is seizing as a figure rises from a black cloak on the end of his bed. Slowly, the Dark Mage’s form takes shape, resting on his knees, bent over in much the same way Hinata was just a moment ago. His back is facing Hinata, and the moment he wishes he could see his face, he turns, following Hinata’s whim as their eyes meet.

The Dark Mage wears an expression empty, hollow, one caressed with a kind of melancholy he almost forgets he possesses. There is no crystal ball in his hands— instead, Hinata finds his hands balled in the fabric of his cape, lifting the hem from where it drifts across the floor. Hinata leans forward in a trance, the space between them almost nothing. He’s in control now, can reach out, can brush his knuckles to the boy’s scarred cheek. It feels almost wrong to do so— the Dark Mage doesn’t flinch; not the one in Hinata’s mind, at least— when his hand grows closer and closer, doesn’t even react when Hinata’s fingertips slip right through, Fog shimmering to adjust around him.

That’s the thing, Hinata remembers. It’s not real— this isn’t real. And as clear as the image is, as much detail there can be found in the creases by his eyes and the pout of his dry lips, they can’t touch, and he can’t speak. There’s something wrong about the entire picture, something missing. Hinata stares into his eyes and finds no fire, feels the stillness of the air around him and senses no darkness. No inky darkness ebbs off him in wisps, no purple fog swirls around his head like a halo of ill intent and evil.

For a second, he seems almost like any other person, resting on the edge of the bed and quiet, seems vulnerable— a word Hinata would never associate with a killer, a monster, the _Dark Mage._ Hinata’s breathing become shaky as tears slide down his face, rolling down his cheeks as every breath hitches, hands beginning to tremor. The illusion is still now, and Hinata makes no effort to change it, simply stares it down as if it could answer the questions buried deep inside of him.

_Why me?_

_Why you?_

_Why are you always in pain?_

_Why—_

Suddenly, the door clicks. Hinata rips himself from his trance, waving away the illusion in an instant. There’s no last lingering glance, no holding on as he turns to the door, facing Iwaizumi with eyes frenzied and fearful. He’s met with an expression he could have never expected— shock. Iwaizumi’s pupils are blown, eyes wide and lips parted as if there are words he wants to say but _can’t,_ brow pulled together in a way Hinata knows means _worry,_  means _concern._ Shame rises up in Hinata’s bloodstream as the ache intensifies a tenfold— _he can’t know he can’t know—_

“I— Illusions— p-practice, I was just—” Hinata stammers, eyes flicking wildly away from Iwaizumi as his face heats up, hands shaking for an entirely different reason. There’s something about Iwaizumi’s surprise, the softness of his face, how his shoulders drop in a way that seems nearly _tired_ — it’s sad, almost. Grieving.

“Shh,” Iwaizumi hums. His skin disappears under a layer of scales— _why now?_ Hinata wonders in a thought that retreats as he approaches, perching on the edge of the bed where the mirage of the Dark Mage had sat moments before. He places a hand on Hinata’s shoulder, and Hinata lets himself lean into him, eyes squeezing shut as he holds in sobs that threaten to rack through his aching body. He rests his forehead on Iwaizumi’s collarbone, thinks _he knows he knows he knows_ because how couldn’t he? It terrifies Hinata, but he can’t speak— not now, not yet. Instead, he washes down the knot in his throat with silence broken only by his hiccuping breaths he tries to hide, held steady by the arms that wrap around his back.

Hinata’s hands cling onto the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt, as if when he looks away, he’ll be gone. His arms burn and the taste of salt is almost bitter against his tongue, but there’s only so much he can do. For now, he listens to Iwaizumi’s humming, to his heartbeat, to his breathing, tries to catch up to the pace his lungs have decided to run at. It’s as his mind clears that he feels Iwaizumi tense, arms shifting. Hinata presses his hands closer to Iwaizumi, holding his waist tighter.

With his face still pressed to his chest, he whispers one word:

“Stay.”

And Iwaizumi does, relaxing in his hold once more. Iwaizumi holds him there as Hinata’s cries fall silent, rubs his back when the pitter-patter of the rain becomes louder than his sobs. Ten thousand worries sprout from the back of his mind, but he shoves them away and grips onto this moment with all he has, holds onto Iwaizumi like he is an anchor in the current of the sea. They both stay, and Hinata lets his shoulders and head go lax.

“May you find crystal in your rest,” Iwaizumi murmurs. It’s soft, quiet, washes over Hinata and pricks tears in his eyes.

Hinata falls asleep just like that, and dreams of a face he cannot name with eyes so dark they seem empty, dreams of something green and shining before fading into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments... kudos... liveblogs? yes... good shit op
> 
> next update coming march 18th!!


	7. feral waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD IVE BEEN WAITING SO EAGERLY FOR THIS CHAPTER ITS 3 HOURS EARLY BUT FUCK IT THIS IS A PRESENT FROM ME AND KJ HOPE YOU ENJOYYY!!
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> **also _please_ note the tags and rating change that we made to accurately depict the way the story is going. take care in reading, be safe, and know your limits!**
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> HEYO im super proud of this chapter. it holds so many sccenes i was so dying to write and got to and am... so proud of how they turned out!!! i wrote a good chunk of this listening to breath of the wild ost as well as some taz music but thats secondary rn! what matters is that i hope you enjoy this chapter as much as we enjoyed writing it!

On the third day, Hinata wakes to the town flooded by fog. He rubs his eyes and winces at the headache that forms at his temples, looking around the room for Iwaizumi. He’s half grateful that he’s not there— grateful for the time to think about the night before, grateful he doesn’t have to face him yet. There’s question neither of them have the time to answer, and even without him present, Hinata can feel the arms wrapped around his back.

It isn’t shameful in the sense that he doesn’t feel weak. Crying himself to sleep in Iwaizumi’s arms is less of an embarrassment than being caught with a figment of his imagination shaped like a person he hardly knows, shaped like the Dark Mage. There is no arguing that Iwaizumi knew who it was, that the fleeting shock across his face was from recognition rather than confusion.

But he never questioned Hinata, just held him, comforted him. It doesn’t make sense to Hinata, can’t be explained or figured out quite yet. For now, he bites back his guilt and gets ready, cape draped over his shoulders and hat left on the bed, ready to face the bigger problem at hand.

Waiting in the lobby of the inn, leaning up against the far wall and talking in hushed voices are Iwaizumi, Kenma and Kuroo. The yellow glow of the candles is all that lights the room, wooden walls dark and casting shadows on the three as they nurse cups of tea.

Iwaizumi is the first to notice Hinata, already looking towards the stairs when he walks in. The crystal necklace hangs over his chest, no longer hidden from everyone's view. His stare is heavy, bright green eyes blinking once in acknowledgement before he waves. His pupils are wider than Hinata has seen them before— probably because of the low light, Hinata figures. When he joins them, Kuroo doesn’t even smile, swirling his cup with one hand before immediately talking business.

“Daichi finished the boat last night,” Kuroo tells him. “Are you sure above leaving in these conditions?”

Iwaizumi looks over to Hinata for a response. Hinata is quick to speak. “If the fog is thickening, then the monster is closer,” he says. “And I’m not waiting any longer.”

His tone doesn’t waver in the slightest, leaving no room for doubt in his determination. Iwaizumi nods, turning back to Kuroo. “Then it’s decided.”

“I still think we should warn the town,” Hinata adds, crossing his arms. “If that monster gets any closer—”

“Kenma has protective sigils that keep most monsters out,” Kuroo tells him, voice diplomatic. There’s an undercurrent of urgency to the way he speaks, a kind of hidden tension in the rigidity of his back Kenma touches his arm, drawing his gaze towards him in a silent gesture of comfort.

“Not all monsters,” Kenma says quietly. “He can strengthen them. It’d make us all less worried if he did.”

They turn to Hinata, who lights up at the idea. “I could cast a shield at the shore too, if you want,” he tells them. “Right along the edge— whatever you think would be the best to keep everybody safe.”

“If you cast it between the towns, it could cover both,” Iwaizumi suggests.

“Is that even possible?” Kuroo wonders, furrowing his brow. “Koneko is big, and Hatarakemura has to be twice the size. Not to mention the space in between.”

“I’ll do it,” Hinata very nearly shouts, grip tightening on his staff. “I’m not leaving the people defenseless.”

“That’d kill anyone else who tried,” Kenma says, staring Hinata down. “Are you sure you’d be able to do it?”

“I should be fine,” Hinata says. The memory of his sister on the bank of a river, cowering in the sight of a monster crafted from bones flashes in front of his eyes, and just like then, he’s overwhelmed with the desire to _move._

Kuroo claps his hands together. “Then we have a plan. Let’s get that boat from Daichi and end this!” he exclaims.

With that, Iwaizumi sets down his cup of tea onto a table, shrugging off his cloak of the Royal Order, skin fading away as a layer of shimmer overtakes it. It’s a signal to everyone else to get ready— Kenma gathers their things and lights an oil lantern while Kuroo grabs a coat. Any sign of the summer has been washed away by the chill of the fog and the looming darkness it brings with it. Hinata rolls out his shoulders, and takes a deep breath. This is what he’s meant to do— his purpose, his reason for pushing himself.

—

Kenma takes Hinata back to the bridge to cast the spell while Kuroo and Iwaizumi set up the caravan for their trip to Hatarakemura. They’re only able to see what is right in front of them, trees only seen by the branches that droop over their heads, way only lit by Kenma’s oil lantern and the magic they both end up lighting in their hands. The perpetual chill left by the fog clings to their skin, leaving a certain kind of clamminess clutching onto every inch of them, sending shivers and chills uncomfortably up their spines while they walk.

“You’re right,” Kenma mutters. He speaks low, as if not wanting to be overheard. “The fog should be burnt off— it _is_ dark magic.”

Hinata nods, jumping when he snaps a twig under his foot. It makes him pause, to reaffirm to himself that it was nothing, just his own nerves being on edge. Regaining composure, he jogs to catch back up with Kenma, pressing their shoulders together as not to lose sight of one another. “We should get this over with,” he says. “How much further until we reach the shore?”

Kenma’s ears twitch as he listens. Hinata can only hear the squish of the soil beneath their feet. There’s no sign or birds, no whispers of other lives, no wind to challenge the still air. Kenma, though, nods, slowing his pace somewhat. “I can hear the water. We should be close.”

It’s ten more minutes before the soil turns to shifting sand below their feet, the two stopping entirely as the massive remains of the bridge come into view. Hinata takes a deep breath, walking a little closer to the water. The water doesn’t seem as rough as he thought it may, waves only lapping calmly at the shore. In a way, it makes things seem worse, makes his insides twist as he grips onto his staff and contemplates the best way to go about casting a protection over two towns.

It won’t have to be against magical attacks, but shouldn’t be purely physical. If the creature is one of the Dark Mage’s— which it _must_ be— Hinata wouldn’t feel comfortable if he didn’t secure it against dark magic. He knows, deep down in his chest, that if he didn’t, he’d never forgive himself.

Kenma leans up against one of the wooden pieces, watching as Hinata grips onto his staff, held out in front of him with both hands and closes his eyes. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that he has the ability to do this— he can save them, can protect them. Still, an inexplicable fear surrounds him, makes taking one last deep breath a challenge as the buzz of magic swirls through him, a familiar energy rolling off of him as he tightens his grip on the staff and drives it down into the sand.

The effect is immediate. Hinata snaps his eyes open and watches as a silvery glow shoots out in all directions. It sends a sharp gust of wind through Kenma’s hair, pushing his bangs from his face as he watches with shock, Hinata still pushing the shield further and further. He doesn’t spread it thin across the shore, doesn’t stretch it out like a sheet and pull it taunt. He feeds out like a line, feeling the magic ebb off him in waves that wash over the borders of the two towns. His body becomes lighter as the shield takes its form in front of them, fog thinning as the barrier becomes thicker and thicker, until Hinata feels the last hole close up and a terrific weight slams onto his shoulders.

The moment the shield is stable, he falls onto his staff, hunching over as he tries to catch his breath. In the process, it didn’t feel like much, but now, even maintaining it takes more energy than he expected. He falls to a knee, his limbs turned to jelly, panting while Kenma walks over, nervously looking around as Hinata catches his breath.

“You dispelled the fog from the town,” he wonders aloud, turning his head. “Are you alright?”

Hinata takes another deep breath, ignoring the way his shoulders begin to ache. He lifts his head, the movement like swimming in molasses, and grins. “Never been better,” he tells Kenma, eyes lighting up. “Told you I could do it, see?”

Kenma looks him up and down, unconvinced even as he begins to stand. “Can you maintain it?”

Hinata huffs, raising his arms and holding back a wince. “I’m maintaining it now, see?” he says, still smiling out of sheer joy of having completed the least he can do. “Come on, Iwaizumi and Kuroo should be ready by now.”

That’s all they need to leave the shore behind and travel back through the town. With the air cleared and the fog onto thick at the water’s edge, the walk back should’ve been quicker. It would’ve been, too, if not for the way Hinata’s legs protested as they made their way towards Kuroo and Iwaizumi. Like it or not, the protective enchantment takes up enough energy to make Hinata tired. Gritting his teeth, he sighs, holding his head high.

 _If it makes_ me _tired, then it must be strong,_  he tells himself while he rests by the stables, watching Iwaizumi tie the horse onto the caravan. _If it’s strong, then I’m doing my part._

—

Daichi waits at the edge of Hatarakemura holding a lantern, bundled up and waiting for them to arrive. Even with the fog dispelled. Hinata waves his arm to signal their arrival, and they stop the caravan there, at the mouth of the town. The tension in the air is tangible, makes their movements stiff as they gather and walk towards the docks. Iwaizumi explains their plan once more to him, Hinata taking credit for the fog’s removal. Daichi seems pleased at that, though in Hatarakemura, the shield is much more apparent. A wall of fog lies at the docks, held back by something glowing faintly if looked at in just the right light. Hinata smiles, rolling out his tired shoulders with pride as he looks on. If he moves slower, so be it. If he needs a hand up onto the docks from Iwaizumi, it’s alright. Iwaizumi is strong enough to lift him either way.

He’s worried, though. Hinata can tell. It’s clear in how his brow knits together but his eyes stay soft, how he licks his parted lip while Hinata takes a breather. When Hinata catches him staring, he flashes a winded smile, not dispelling any of Iwaizumi’s concern.

“Are you going to be okay?” Iwaizumi asks him. “I don’t doubt the shield but… Hinata, are _you_ going to be okay?”

Hinata blinks, tilting his head. “Of course I’ll be okay,” he says, biting back the hesitation. “It’s not like I’m alone, right? And I’m just tired, I haven’t gotten to my limit yet!” he exclaims.

 _I’m a little more than halfway there, though,_  he thinks. Another big show of magic like that, and he’ll be down for the count. There’s a thin line between giving your all and killing yourself, and Hinata plans to make sure not to cross it. He’s confident he won’t need to— not with Iwaizumi there, at least.

Daichi claps, placing his hands on his hips as he presents the vessel to them. “Here she is! Gave her four harpoons, removed the netting, and reinforced the interior,” he says, turning to face them. “You’re now the owners of the strongest boat in town.”

Iwaizumi nods. “Thank you for your hard work on it,” he tells him. “You did a great service to both of these towns.” He turns to Kenma. “Do you think you could enchant it as an extra precaution? We don’t know what’s out there, and every bit counts.”

Kenma blinks, not expecting being called upon. “I could… but I don’t know if it’d be as strong as his.”

Despite the ache on his shoulders, Hinata jumps up. “I can do it!” he exclaims.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Hinata, you need to conserve your energy. Like I said, we don’t know what’s out there, and your magic especially would be helpful fighting whatever it is.”

Hinata bites his lip, nodding complacently as Iwaizumi puts a hand on his shoulder before turning to Kenma. “If you could,” he says with a nod.

Kenma nods in return. He sets the end of his staff along the side and watches as it glows white for a few moments before fading. The protective spell takes place, casting a shimmering glow along the boat.

“Now, let’s just hope it’ll hold, eh?” Kuroo jests, leaning back. Kenma sighs beside him. “I’m joking— I know it will. I have faith in your charms.” He puts an arm around Kenma, Kenma looking down to hide the pink tint of his cheeks. “You two should be safe on that thing. It looks stronger than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, I think they’ve got all the strength they need,” a taunting voice chimes. The five turn their heads around, looking for the source of the voice. Hinata and Iwaizumi immediately look down to the water to spot Sugawara lifting himself up to rest his elbows on the dock, tail flicking out of the water. “Hey there, big boy.”

Iwaizumi ignores his flirtatious greeting, jaw setting in confusion. “Suga, why are you here?” he asks.

Sugawara sighs, cheek pressing against the dock. “The pod effectively disbanded since the creature caught up,” he says. “Everyone’s hiding, but I figured I’d be safest here since I know you.”

“If you hide under the dock, you should be fine,” Daichi tells him. “It’s covered by the White Ma— Hinata’s shield.”

Sugawara hums in response, raising his brows. “Maybe you could wait here with me, if it’s so safe. I’d appreciate the handsome company.”

Daichi turns an impressive shade of red an instant after Sugawara speaks, speech reduced to stammers. Kuroo cackles at his reaction, throwing back his head before keeling over while Iwaizumi sighs in relief at not being the _only_ target of Sugawara’s antics.

“If we’re done now,” he coughs, drawing Daichi’s attention back to the matter at hand. Daichi quickly regains his composure, Sugawara giggling behind him while Kuroo straightens out and suppresses the last of his laughter, the mood returning to its earlier state.

“Ah, right,” Daichi says, rubbing his neck. “I was thinking that there should be a system in case of emergency.”

“A flare?” Hinata asks, tilting his head.

“They won’t be able to see any flare. Not through that fog, at least,” Iwaizumi reasons.

“I can make a firework, then,” Hinata says. “A big bang— you should be able hear it.”

“Then what’s your code?” Kuroo asks.

“One if it’s over, two if we need help, three if an evacuation is needed,” Iwaizumi supplies. “It’s standard in the Royal Order for these sorts of things. Does that make sense?”

They all nod, air stiffening as the boat creaks beside them. Iwaizumi turns to Hinata, nodding one last time before climbing onto the boat. He gives Hinata a hand up, pulling him on before heading to the bow, Kuroo and Daichi untying the ropes that connect it to the dock. Kenma offers Hinata a small wave as the boat is pushed free, Hinata using magic to propel it along. It’s nothing next to the strain of maintaining the shield, is nothing next to the anxiety that pounds in his chest.

The instant they enter the fog, all sense of direction is lost. Hinata moves from his position at the back of the boat towards Iwaizumi, staring at his back. At only a foot away, the details of his shoulders are blurry. The only things that shine in the dim grey on the water are the scales that adorn his body and the sword strapped to his back. The blade seems deadlier than the tension in the air, the cool metal reflecting Hinata’s own hazy reflection as the boat moves on.

The river’s current seems almost weak, no waves nor force pushing against them. Iwaizumi unsheathes his sword and narrows his eyes as they move along, slowly, carefully, blindly. There’s no telling in which direction the monster may be in, not when Hinata has to press closer and closer to Iwaizumi just to keep sight of them. The back of their boat becomes shrouded in the fog, a mystery to them both as they continue on.

“Tell me if you hear anything,” Hinata says, surprised at how quiet his own voice is.

Iwaizumi nods, squinting through the fog as he holds his sword at the ready. Just as he opens his mouth to speak once more, the boat rocks underneath them. Hinata grips onto the side of the boat as he stumbles, the two of them rising abruptly as a wave pushes past, rocking them back and forth, back and forth, a twisted cradle accompanying how the fog shifts and swirls around them. The waves don’t die down, continuing to push up against Hinata’s steering current to the point where it becomes futile to try and guide their boat any longer. Still, it holds upright even as they’re pushed along, Iwaizumi looking back to Hinata to check if he’s alright. Hinata’s response is wordless— a flash of a smile as he pulls himself up, supporting his weight on his staff. He can feel how the shield still tugs at him, how it’s tied to his core as he focuses more of his energy into maintaining it.

Iwaizumi furrows his brows, grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. With a single defiant slash, he cuts through the fog, dispelling it just long enough for the mouth of a beast to come into view. He jumps back as the creature rears its enormous head, frills at its neck flaring as it unhinges its jaw and _screeches._  The sound echoes out through the ravine, echoing through the distance as the two catch sight of its teeth, thrice the size of either of them, straight edged teeth sharpened to a deadly point. Hinata is quick to react, his body moving before he even realizes. The ship lurches towards the left just as it closes its jaws, snapping down on the space where they once were. In response, its tail flicks out from behind them and splashes, sending forth another wave. Hinata using all his strength to propel the boat back with the current of the water alone as Iwaizumi fires off a harpoon, cord cut, aimed to hurt rather than to catch.

“That’s not a fish!” Hinata shouts as the harpoon pierces through its thick sea green scales. The creature simply bats it off with its tail before whipping around to face them, ducking under the water.

“I know!” Iwaizumi shouts back, grabbing onto the edge of the boat for support as it rocks.

Hinata uses his staff for balance, blood running cold. His breaths come short, panicked. “It’s— it’s the—”

“The Sea Serpent Leviathan!” Iwaizumi finishes for him. “Hinata, sound off three signals! We need to evacuate the towns!”

“R-right!” Hinata yells. He squeezes his eyes closed, covering his ear with one hand as he raises the other with staff in hand, sending off the definite _bangs_ , the fireworks exploding above them with enough noise to garter the leviathan’s attention once more. He yelps as he’s thrown back by the sheer force of it bursting up through the water. Iwaizumi manages to stay upright through sheer force of will more than anything else, slashing his sword across the leviathan’s side as it barrels past. The cut is shallow, but the leviathan still hisses, diving back into the river.

Neither of them expected the creature to be this large— to be this deadly. No one can _kill_ a leviathan— that fact has been engraved in everyone’s mind since the moment of their conception. Iwaizumi grits his teeth as water splashes up onto the boat, soaking him from his position at the bow, barely flinching at the cold temperature. Hinata rushes beside him and splaying his hands to summon a wall of water between them and the leviathan as their boat hurries back towards the shore. As soon as it goes up, the leviathan bursts through. Hinata jerks the water to the right, the leviathan moving with it and saving their necks as they continue away.

“How— how in the—” Hinata sputters, falling onto his backside and skidding across the deck of the boat. “How do we kill _that?!”_

“We don’t,” Iwaizumi says, still holding his sword out in front of him, watching, waiting. “We drive it out.”

Something about his calm demeanor, the loaded trigger of his stance as he looks out across the clouds of fog, sends a chill down Hinata’s spine. “We need an advantage— we need to get closer to land to minimize its movements. Do you know where the shore is?”

Hinata feels a sharp tug rip through his stomach. “I can sense the shield— just— I’ll head towards it,” he says, water pouring over the side of the boat as he follows the magical energy the force field emits.

“Once we see the shore, we need to stay _away_ from the towns! We have to buy them enough time for them to evacuate before we get off onto the shore!” Iwaizumi shouts. As he does, a tail flicks out from the water, its girth larger than the trunk of any tree. It smacks down beside their ship, deadly accurate, and sends them both lurching as Hinata focuses his strength onto pushing them further and further and further from the leviathan.

The fog begins to thin as they approach the barrier of Hinata’s shield, the two of them skirting along the line where it begins. Hinata spares a glance towards the patch of shore they’re arrived at— far from the docks of Hatarakemura, but too close for comfort. He puts every bit of his strength into maintaining the shield as the leviathan shoots out of the water beside them, arching over them with the speed of a bird in flight before smashing down against the water. It narrowly misses their ship, but Iwaizumi gets the chance to wedge his sword into its belly. He clenches his jaw and holds his arms steady above his head as it continues to whip past, fighting the pull with all of his strength as the creature falls back. Iwaizumi looks towards Hinata, coated in blood so black it looks to be ink. With the back of his sword hand, he wipes his face clear, the blood rolling off his scales and onto the deck of the boat.

Hinata’s cape whips around him as he spins, muscles screaming as he searches for the beast. Iwaizumi knows where he is, has his back, and the two have one goal— to distract, to keep the attention of the leviathan on _them._  To some degree, it may sense Hinata as the White Mage, but there’s no counting on that fact with the towns of Koneko and Hatarakemura at stake.

Their thoughts are interrupted as another wave heads their way. Hinata pushes back at it with both hands outstretched, one grasping his staff, enough to keep them steady. The wave continues towards the barrier, crashing against it. The shield doesn’t falter, but Hinata winces, the force of the hit affecting him more than he’d thought. There’s no time to regain his bearings as the leviathan rises up from the water, staring down with its mouth wide and filled with teeth, like a viper poised to strike. In a feat of panic, Hinata swings his staff upwards, sending off a bolt of white hot energy which grazes the side of its head. It hisses, shooting forwards and smashing down mere inches from their boat.

“We’re not hurting it,” Hinata worries, panics, looking wildly around for Iwaizumi. He turns, Iwaizumi already at his side, eyes narrowed into their reptilian slits. “Iwa—”

“Just keep going,” he tells him, clapping his shoulder once before jumping back onto the bow. “We’re getting to it— keep on the offensive!”

The leviathan suddenly rises, snapping its jaws beside them. Its teeth catches one of the harpoons and bites it clean off, the creature tossing it aside as Hinata throws up another wall of water to push it away. The act of fighting against the creature’s strength makes Hinata fall to one knee as he tenses like a band about to snap, letting himself groan when the creature finally dives back under the waves.

The moment it disappears, Iwaizumi starts moving. He runs to one of the remaining harpoon guns and rips off the harpoon with one hand, sheathing his sword so that he can rip through the braided rope in one swift motion. He takes his position on the bow, one foot placed on the edge as his eyes narrow, tracking the creature as it rushes through the water beneath them. Iwaizumi steadies his arm, raising the harpoon high above his head before launching it into the water. It digs into a joint between its scales, lodging deep enough that it scurries deeper underwater, if only for a moment.

A second later, it bursts from the water, straight up, forcing the ship nearly vertical as a wave pushes the back. Iwaizumi falls as the ship straightens again, whipping his head around to see Hinata gripping onto the side, staring right at the face of the beast as it charges at them dead on.

Suddenly, every part of Hinata begins to buzz, energy burning underneath his skin. In the split second before the creature opens its jaws wide enough to swallow them whole, he raises his staff with a shout as a blinding flash of white light hits the leviathan dead on. The force of the magic manages to clear away the fog surrounding them, a perfect sphere of light illuminating them before fading away in all directions.

The leviathan lets out a screech, its wail shrill and bouncing off of the waves as it thrashes, completely blinded. It soon falls back underwater, disappearing just as Hinata begins to feel the effects of using magic that strong. Iwaizumi rushes back towards Hinata before his knees hit the ground. The force needed to blind the creature was immense, and the magic, casted out of pure instinct, was much stronger than he meant it to be.

Iwaizumi lets him lean on him, worry pushed down as they turn their heads searching, waiting for the leviathan’s next move. Hinata closes his eyes, trying to steady himself as he pours all of his energy into maintaining the shield. Every part of his body screams in protest, as if his body wants to refuse the magic needed to hold it together. He fights every part of him that wants to give in, clutching onto Iwaizumi’s arm as the waves whip around them.

“You sure hit it,” Iwaizumi muses, tone strained, but proud. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Hinata bites back, forcing a half-smile across his face as he struggles to stand. Their boat begins to rise, elevated by another wave, and Hinata freezes with dread, hands shaking, body weak. He panics, trying to steady their boat while also maintaining the shield only for his full energy to be divided between the two. The boat shifts, but not enough to stay clear of the leviathan as it bursts out of the water once more, shrieking and sending an enormous wave that swells higher than a hundred feet towards the nearby town. Hinata cries out, body tensing as he struggles to hold his shield only to watch it shatter as the wave pushes through, ripping up the shore as it surges forwards.

Hinata can _feel_ the shield break, feels the enormous weight of the magic lift off of him and take the remainder of his strength with it. Their ship rocks back and forth as it steadies after the leviathan’s attack, Iwaizumi thrown to the opposite side of Hinata. He watches as Hinata does his best to stay upright, water sloshing onto either side of their boat. Iwaizumi dashes forwards to grab him a second too late— another splash from the leviathan has already sent him over, Hinata scrambling to take one last breath before he hits the water. Without a beat of hesitation, Iwaizumi dives in after him.

Even in the shallows, the river is deep, the strong undertow dragging them further and further from the shore. Hinata struggles to carry himself upwards as Iwaizumi kicks his legs towards him, fighting against the pull of the water as he grabs hold onto him. Mind racing, Iwaizumi looks around for any sight of the leviathan. The water is clear, but dark, and although there’s nothing to obscure his view, the beast can’t be seen. Every moment spent looking is another they aren’t breathing, so he focuses on fighting the dangerous undertow, carrying Hinata as he struggles to stay awake.

It’s as his own vision begins to become spotty that he sees a flash of bright blue as Sugawara swims out in front of them, eyes wide and gills expanding as he stares at them.

“Grab my arm!” he calls, voice heard clear through the water as Iwaizumi grasps onto him, surprised by the strength Sugawara possesses. “I’ll explain later, let’s just _go!”_  A million questions flash through his mind as Sugawara pulls them along, speeding through the water in mere seconds as they approach the shore.

The second they break the surface, Iwaizumi and Hinata both take strained breaths, Hinata’s much smaller, much weaker than Iwaizumi’s. With the water shallow enough that he can touch, Iwaizumi runs him up bit further, Sugawara lying in the wake as Hinata fights to keep his eyes open, world fading in his exhaustion.

Iwaizumi falls to his knees, coughing up water as he looks to Sugawara. “Go— get him to safety!” he shouts, voice hoarse, burning.

Sugawara surges through the water, taking Hinata from his arms as his eyes continue to flutter between open and closed. “But what about you? Iwa—”

Iwaizumi rises to his feet, rolling out his shoulders as he looks back out to the river, watching as another wave begins to swell. “I’ll manage! Just _go!”_

Sugawara hesitates, face contorting before he nods, taking Hinata with him back through the water. Iwaizumi spares one last fleeting glance towards him as he takes a deep breath, unsheathing his sword only to wedge it into the sand. Steam begins to rise off of the green scales that adorn his body as he grins, the leviathan once again rearing its head.

“Alright,” he breathes out, pupils sharpening and focusing on the leviathan before him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

—

It’s later, and the fog has begun to clear across the river. Iwaizumi sits spent in the wet shore, stretching out his aching shoulders as he gives himself a moment just to breathe. The leviathan is gone, for now at least, retreated back downstream to its home in the sea to lick at its wounds, likely not to ever terrorize this part of Seishun for another few hundred years. Iwaizumi hopes he’ll never have to see the day where it returns.

Sighing, he pulls his blade out from where he had shoved it in the sand. The jade gemstone at the centre of the hilt twinkles, the same shade as the scales that stretch across the hands that grab it. He wipes the blade on the leg of his trousers to remove the gravel before strapping it onto his back, claws digging into the tiny stones as he closes his eyes. The scent of freshly churned earth and something a little fishy fills the air as the sun finally comes out from behind the clouds, beating down on him.

Iwaizumi lets himself smile— a _real_ smile, not one fueled by any emotion besides content. He’s a bit cold from the water, a chill still clinging to his body not aided in any way by his current predicament. Still, he stays where the water can lick his feet, tired more than anything, happy to enjoy the sunshine and let his thoughts wander.

There isn’t a doubt in his mind that Sugawara got Hinata back to dry land. The leviathan never left his sight, afterall. It’s the only thought that allows him to relax now, after all of the fighting and strife is over.

Iwaizumi hums to himself, opening his eyes to watch the river churn along, drifting bits of driftwood. “Salvation in green knit scales,” he wonders aloud. “Huh.”

Above him, clouds drift lazily by, puffy and obscuring the sun. They cast shadows shaped like cotton balls or spools of wool down the river bank— warm, comforting, soft. Iwaizumi scoots out of their shade to stay in the sun’s rays, sighing once more in content as he closes his eyes, letting the cool breeze wash over him. It’s a lot warmer now, with the fog gone— finally feeling like summer once again.

That moment of relaxation is broken by a soft splash. Iwaizumi cracks open one eye and holds back a sigh when he spots Sugawara approaching from the depths.

“Hey there, shimmer-scales,” he teases, voice less jesting and more gentle. Iwaizumi doesn’t bother rolling his eyes now, too grateful for the service he did to him earlier in the day.

“How’s Hinata?” Iwaizumi asks him, leaning back onto his elbows.

Sugawara shrugs, hoisting himself onto a nearby chunk of wood from a boat that never survived. “I brought him to Koneko— they weren’t hit by the wave at all,” he tells Iwaizumi. “Kenma took him. He’s fainted, but Kenma said he should be okay.”

Iwaizumi nods, watching as Sugawara soaks alongside him in the sun. “Thank you for that,” he tells him, voice quiet, but sure.

“Hey, I did what I had to do. I was watching the fight, and when you two went under…” Sugawara trails off, tail flicking water back onto himself. “You know, I didn’t stick around in Koneko.”

Iwaizumi tenses, body going rigid. “Oh?” he replies, careful.

Sugawara smirks. “Nope,” he says, popping the word cheekily. “Came right back to see if you’d be okay.”

Iwaizumi sits up straight, staring him down. “How much did you see, Sugawara?” he asks, voice serious, stern.

Sugawara laughs, throwing back his head. “All of it, to be honest. My oh _my,_ color me surprised!”

“You can’t tell anyone, Suga,” Iwaizumi says, furrowing his brow. “Not a soul.”

Sugawara’s joking demeanor drops, and he smiles, softer. “Hey,” he says, mouth quirking to the side. “I can keep a secret, y’know. For a _price.”_ He reaches out, hand grazing Iwaizumi’s cheek only for Iwaizumi grab his wrist, stopping the movement. Sugawara cackles again, worming out of his grip. “No, no. I have something better I want.”

Iwaizumi sighs now, staring at him exasperatedly. “Which is?”

Sugawara points one finger to his chest. “That crystal necklace you’ve got there.”

Iwaizumi instantly tenses, one hand flying up to cover the pink crystal and tucking it back under his shirt, eyes reflexively darkening. Sugawara is sent into another fit of giggles as he shakes his head, flopping back onto his perch.

“I’m _messing_ with you, _big boy_ — I know how your kind are,” he says, still laughing. “No one will know, you have a siren’s word.” He flicks his tail, a devilish glint rising to his eyes as he leans forwards to peck Iwaizumi’s cheek. “There. That’s all the payment I need, handsome.”

Iwaizumi jumps backwards, feeling his face heat up and placing a hand over where he kissed it. Sugawara acts as if nothing ever happened, as if his casual flirting is nothing but that, as if he doesn’t know, or hasn’t figured out, how Iwaizumi would react.

Iwaizumi shakes off the shock and the heat on his cheeks and pushes himself up to stand, raising his arms over his head in a large stretch as he yawns, joints popping as they find their comfortable grooves. “I believe you,” he tells him, voice gruff, half annoyed, half fond. Koneko and Hatarakemura have grown on him more than he would’ve expected, like weed or a fungus on an old log.

Sugawara lets out another soft laugh. “Thanks for saving the day, hero,” he says.

Iwaizumi turns, unable to stop the smile that forms on his lips. “It’s what we do,” he replies with a nod. He begins to make his way back to the town, Sugawara singing gently behind him, only to stop as he spots something _large_ in his tracks.

Iwaizumi bends over, yanking a large tooth from the ground. It’s heavy, curved to a razor sharp tip and about the length of his arm. He shakes his head, holding it gently, carefully as he tucks an idea away in the back of his head for another time. With that, he shoves the tooth under his arm and begins the trek back to Koneko. He’s down to one shoe after the underwater scuffle, but doesn’t mind, doesn’t complain even as one foot squishes with water, the other scratching in the sand. Right now, all he thinks about is Hinata, safe and back in Koneko. He imagines him in bed, or sitting up on Kuroo and Kenma’s porch, imagines how worried he must be. It makes his chest clench, makes him move a little faster if only so he’ll know that everything is okay.

—

Koneko was saved from the brunt of the leviathan’s terror. As Hinata’s strength returns, he finds himself moving throughout Kenma and Kuroo’s home, looking for where they may be. There’s little sense of time, but the sun hangs high in the sky and there isn’t a cloud of fog to be seen. His wet clothes are hung to dry on a clothesline pinned between trees, and while the shirt and trousers he wears are not his own and fit him strange, they’re warm and dry. His body is a constant sensation of pins and needles— likely from draining so much of his magic— but the ache that sits on his chest is familiar despite the confusion of how everything ended. He finds him searching for any sign of Iwaizumi, racking his mind for any memory of what happened after he fell into the water. It’s too blurry to decipher, not when he’s still tired, still drained.

Koneko is busy, too. People wander throughout the streets, humans wrapped in blankets, nervously welcomed onto crowded porches as werecats struggle to accommodate the sudden influx of evacuees. A weight lifts off of Hinata’s shoulders at the sight of so many people, safe; scared, but otherwise fine. He leans onto his staff and stumbles down the too narrow steps, barefoot, looking around for someone to direct him to wherever Iwaizumi is, to tell him the outcome of their fight.

The moment he steps out into the open, people look his way, their faces a mixture of surprise and elation. Hinata waves, offering a rushed smile as he searches the crowds for a familiar face. When he spots brassy hair with roots earthy and ears folded, he rushes over, bare feet an afterthought, mind too preoccupied with worry to focus on the stones that prick his arches.

“Kenma!” Hinata calls out, nearly bumping into him in his haste. “The leviathan— the shield— _Iwaizumi—_ ”

“Shhh,” Kenma hushes, stepping back from him and flipping up his hood. “It’s over now. The leviathan was driven away.”

“And— and the town? Hatarakemura?” Hinata asks, looking around to all of the residents. “My shield—”

“Saved them. You gave them enough time to evacuate before the wave destroyed most of the town,” Kenma says. Hinata takes a deep breath, calming down purely by being in Kenma’s presence. His soft voice and reassuring glances make Hinata’s heart rate slow. “Lev said he saw Iwaizumi with Kuroo, but I haven’t seen either of them since the evacuation.”

Hinata nods, looking back through the crowded streets. Even without asking, he can sense Kenma’s own apprehension, his own anxieties that will only be cured by _seeing._  Hinata grabs his wrist, half out of need for something to balance him and half to urge him along. “Come on, let’s go look for them then!”

Kenma’s tail shoots straight up as Hinata drags him haphazardly through the thickets of bodies, most of which move out of their way once they see Hinata’s urgency. There’s a funny kind of sensation in the pit of Hinata's stomach, one that he can only explain as _knowing,_ as _understanding_ that there’s nothing left to fear. It’s there, despite the ache, despite his own worry of Iwaizumi’s safety. He and Kenma hurry towards the edge of Koneko, towards the diner with full tables and faces— none of which Hinata is looking for. He pouts, stopping dead in his tracks as he whips his head around, searching for—

“Kenma!” a voice cries, and Hinata and Kenma both pivot just in time to catch Kuroo barreling over. He grabs Kenma around the waist and spins him once, Kenma’s entire body language changing at the sight of him. He falls right into Kuroo’s touch as if it’s natural, lets himself be swung around as his lips tilt in a warm smile, eyes closing when Kuroo kisses his cheek. “Oh my god, I didn’t know where you _were—”_

Kuroo pushes Kenma away to look him in the eyes, both hands firmly planted on Kenma’s shoulders. He stares as Kenma with wide eyes and an expression that can only be described as relieved, dopey grin spreading wide across his face as he shakes his head. And Kenma looks up at him, lips parted in a silent _oh_ , blinking as a realization washes over his features.

And then Kenma is reach up to grab the front of Kuroo’s shirt, yanking him down into a kiss neither of them seemed to expect. Kuroo’s eyes blow wide with shock, his ears jolting up before he wraps his arms back around Kenma completely, smiling against his lips as Kenma holds tightly onto what matters most.

Hinata watches, his own heart squeezing for half second before he’s torn away by the sound of a cough. He looks back to see Iwaizumi, clothes damp, missing a shoe, of all things, lips tilted ever so slightly into a smile. Relief washes over Hinata like a wave as he approaches him, stumbling, but staying upright, words already falling from his lips before he can think them through.

“You’re here— are you— did—” he stammers, looking Iwaizumi up and down. “The leviathan— are you okay? You look— you look good— okay as in not, like, dead—”

Iwaizumi chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as he averts his eyes. “The leviathan is gone. It swam back downstream,” he tells him.

Hinata shakes his head in disbelief, head buzzing in elation as he smiles wider than before. His cheeks hurt just as much as the rest of his body, but there isn’t any part of him that would want to contain this feeling, that would want to stop himself from being this happy.

“How’d you do it?” Hinata asks, laughing out the question in bewilderment. “How— what—”

“I couldn't have done it without you,” Iwaizumi tells him, one hand ruffling Hinata’s hair. Hinata opens his mouth to ask something else, to ask _how_ as a steady blush creeps across his face, but stops when Iwaizumi reaches over his shoulder to take off an object wrapped in cloth. “Here,” he says, “I found this.”

Hinata tilts his head to the side, leaning in to get a better look. Iwaizumi lifts the end of the cloth to reveal the tip of a tooth, curved to a point and a pearly shade of white. Hinata has to resit the urge to touch it as he stares in wonder, looking back up to Iwaizumi and his look of almost _pride_ before looking back down at the tooth. The entire thing is larger than Hinata’s arm and yet Iwaizumi carries it as if it’s nothing.

“Where’d you find that?!” Hinata exclaims.

“On the beach. I thought you’d like to see it,” Iwaizumi says. His smile grows with the minute, warming Hinata’s chest. “How are you feeling?”

Hinata leans onto his staff, stumbles, and quickly straightens— all within a second. “Never better,” he tells Iwaizumi, and despite everything that’s happened, it’s true.

—

The rest of the day is spent in a joint effort to try and asses the damage done to Hatarakemura. True to Kenma’s word, everyone had made it out of the town safely, but most of the buildings along the shore were completely gone, the streets flooded, homes worse for wear. Hinata’s strength returns enough for him to help levitate objects when needed, but most of the heavy lifting goes to Iwaizumi as they try to return the docks to their former glory with what time they have left. Both have decided to leave come the next morning— while their time in Koneko was both needed and enjoyed, Iwaizumi’s request to join the main force can’t go ignored.

And so they work alongside the rest of the townspeople, making plans in the back of their mind while focusing on the greater task at hand. Nearly everyone pitches into the efforts in some way. Iwaizumi hauls stones and boards as if it were nothing, Lev holds posts steady while Yaku nails them in place, and even Kenma moves to help dry the water pooling in the surviving homes. From the side, Daichi watches, taking a long overdue sip of his water as he watches progress be made.  

“Oi, not slacking off, are you?”

Daichi turns to face Kuroo and his cheshire grin he’s come to associate with being nothing but a pain in the ass. Today, he pushes that prejudice aside and gives him a hearty laugh, draining the last of his glass before walking his way. “Just taking a breather is all,” he tells him. “Who are you to talk?”

Kuroo shrugs, flicking his tail. “I mean, I figured I could stop to talk to you,” he says. “Or, at least give an apology, of sorts.”

Daichi blinks in surprise. He searches Kuroo’s face for any kind of bluff only to find none, and narrows his eyes. “Apology?”

“Well, apology on behalf of the Council of Koneko,” he explains. “Our first reaction to Hatarakemura trespassing on our waters wasn’t as... _pragmatic_ as it could’ve been. We could’ve figured this whole thing out in a lot less time if we worked together, is what I’m saying.”

Daichi raises his brows in shock, crossing his arms. Kuroo takes in his reaction before rolling his eyes with a melodramatic sigh. “I know _we_ couldn’t— god, even the First Knight of the Royal Order and the _White Mage_ couldn’t kill the thing— but I’m just saying I should get over my hardass ways,” Kuroo says. “At least for politics.”

Daichi stares him down for another moment, shaking his head. “I guess we were both stuck in our ways, then,” he says. Kuroo grins, sticking out his hand. Daichi grips it tight enough that Kuroo’s ears shoot straight, both of them starting an invisible test of strength.

But it’s okay, in the end. Hatarakemura continues being rebuilt, and Koneko signs a truce in the form of knowing what disaster looks like first hand, in silently recognizing some things, like pride, will be worth sacrificing. What once were two towns divided now join together under a kind of alliance forged under pressure, formed with prides set aside for a good greater than just a few. And amidst all of the destruction, the terror, the stakes and the tears shed, something was gained that made it all worth it— something worth fighting for.

—

That night, Kuroo holds what he calls a get together, says it’s just for friends to celebrate the conductors of a great victory. His and Kenma’s cluttered abode makes for a surprisingly good setting— comfy couches easy to lounge on, tables already covered in things to use as coasters. Hinata appreciates it— appreciates how Kuroo breaks out a large bottle labelled with _Fantasmal_ and pours everyone a glass— one for him, for Kenma, for Iwaizumi, for Daichi, and for Hinata. If Sugawara were there, Hinata thinks, he would simply drink the whole bottle.

Kenma lights the home with ball of multicoloured light, hues of purple to orange warming the living room with flecks of colour that glow out onto the streets. The doors and windows are flung open wide, letting the cool night’s breeze sweep through, chilling the flush that has risen to Hinata’s cheeks. There is so much left to be worried about, to ponder and to think and think and overthink, but for now he smiles and leans in when Kuroo goes off on telling some sort of story about the biggest catch, giggling at the competition that slowly starts between him, Daichi, and Iwaizumi, if only through stories alone.

Hinata nurses his drink and smiles as warmth bubbles in his chest. This night is enough to ease his shoulders in much the same way as a hot bath, tension seeping out of him as Kuroo teases Daichi about Sugawara. Iwaizumi looks grateful to not be on the receiving end, shaking his head in Hinata’s direction as he leans up against the window.

It’s not long after that that Lev pokes his head through the open screen door, bent over comically low as Yaku pushes past, scolding him at the same time Kuroo opens his arms to welcome them in. Two new guests turns into three, turns into five, six, seven— Hinata stops counting after that. Kuroo and Kenma’s home is deceptively large, with everyone finding a nook to stand in. Kenma naps undisturbed on the couch, Kuroo perched on the back entertaining while his fiance sleeps. It’d be a wonderful scene if not for how hot the room quickly gets. The summer heat has returned in full force, and even at night, Hinata is left wanting a breeze.

That’s not to mention how his mind has been buzzing for the last hour, somehow still _thinking_ about something he doesn’t understand.

Hinata hums, sets down his glass and waves to Iwaizumi across the room, motioning to the door. “I’m gonna get some air!” he calls out, voice ringing out over the sounds of laughter and cheer. Iwaizumi nods in response, giving him a small smile and a wave back as he slips out onto the porch of Kuroo and Kenma’s house.

Koneko is dark at this time of night. There are no other lights as the days pass hands, as they dance the line between late night and early morning. Hinata finds himself squinting as he walks along the perimeter of Kuroo and Kenma’s home. For some reason, his heart rate has yet to slow, rising in speed and in height as it climbs to his throat and hammers. _It’s just whatever Kuroo gave me,_ Hinata tells himself, ignoring how his breaths grow shorter, how his stomach clenches. _I haven’t got anything to be worried about._

The fresh air clears his mind to a degree. The world is still in its silence, balancing on the edge of awake and asleep all while Hinata toes the line of the orange and violet lights which bleed from the windows and into the wilderness. The treeline engulfed in Koneko makes for a good reference point for him so that he doesn’t get lost, along with the light, bright and unfading. It seems beautiful— _seems,_  being the key. Hinata turns back and wonders if he is imagining how the hair on his neck rises, if the goosebumps on his legs are leftover adrenaline from a day that should soon be put to rest.  

Hinata finds himself wandering further and further from the town, passing the trees marked with Kenma’s sigils, past the point where houses are built. Hinata summons a ball of light to hover by his head, finds himself tinting it orange, the lights changing softly and casting shadows. The trees look like deformed hands, reaching, stretching, and Hinata keeps moving on nothing more than instinct, chest wound tight and aching. The edge of Koneko is bordered with a wooden fence. Ivy curls around each of the posts, and Hinata finds himself reaching out to touch them before he spots something glowing violet.

And his chest throbs as he lifts his eyes, staff held tight to his chest, eyes wide with shock as he looks upon a face he knows by memory of visions, of tear-stained dreams—

The face of the Dark Mage.

The ache punches through Hinata’s chest, intensifying tenfold as he staggers and loses all of the oxygen from his lungs. Feelings course through him, too quick to recognize, mind overloading with pure _feeling._  Thousands of emotions— dread, elation, confusion, _fear—_ mix together in a whirlwind too dizzying to process, too massive to comprehend. His skin buzzes as if he has just cast a spell, hands trembling with something too familiar to be adrenaline, too warm to be fear. The Dark Mage watches him with a kind of composure that is foreign to his features, to Hinata. He tilts up his chin and looks down at Hinata— so _tall,_  robe thrown over his shoulders haphazardly.

“It’s a pleasure once again,” he says, and _oh_ his voice is low, rough, scratching, “White Mage.”

Hinata’s voice catches in his throat. He opens and closes his mouth, choking on half formed words he can’t yet speak. There are a million questions he should ask, a million things he should do, but he can only find himself wanting to jump over the fence and reach out his arms to hold and his hands to _touch._

The source of the purple light is a flame that crackles next to the Dark Mage’s head. It illuminates his face, accentuates the hollows of his cheek bones, the deep lines underneath his eyes. They’re a deep brown, so dark they seem black, bottomless and _tired_ as if there is no energy left in him to move. Yet, the only word Hinata can find to describe him, to describe the way his legs refuse to move even with every cell in his body screaming at him to _move,_ is _ethereal._

“W-wh-why?” Hinata stammers, not even sure what he’s asking.

The Dark Mage hums, leaning onto a nearby maple. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, lashes dark and brushing across his cheeks as he thinks, the silence between them holding Hinata’s breath as he waits for his answer.

“I wanted to meet the one I would die with,” he says, tilting his head as he opens his eyes once again, half lidded and darkening. Hinata’s stomach drops, throat knotting as the words sink into his bones, washing over him as the Dark Mage’s gaze picks him apart. Hinata shivers— there is something chilling about the aura the Dark Mage carries. It’s purple now, dimly ebbing around him, but when combined with the deadly sharp focus of his eyes, Hinata is left feeling vulnerable, exposed, feeling frozen in place.

Somewhere in Hinata’s logical mind, a voice screams, yells _do something, throw up a shield, stun him._ Koneko and Hatarakemura lay only footsteps away, the only thing standing between the most deadly force in all of Seishun and them being Hinata— shaking, small Hinata, who yearns to find out if the Dark Mage’s hands are as cold as they seem. Even that thought alone is enough to shoot lead through his veins, mind screaming _guilt,_ screaming _unclean_ as logical thought tries to fight the white hot urge to get closer.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Hinata whispers. His own voice is broken, comes out in a strangled coarse tone from emotions running high.

The Dark Mage tips his head, and _smiles_ — bitter, brow pinched, _pained._ “Would you even be able to fight me as you are now? Would you even stand a chance?”

For all but a moment, Hinata sees nothing but blackness in his eyes, watches as the flame by his shoulder swells to twice its size before dying down. Hinata’s breath turns to ice in the very same moment as sheer terror paired with concern overtakes him at the sight, a part of him, buried deep inside, _knowing_ that its caused by the pain inside the Dark Mage. The aura around him simmers, fading from black back to purple as his eyes return to brown, disgust and frustration painted across his pursed lips and wrinkled nose.

“Could— why—” Hinata chokes. _Could you? Why aren’t you?_

Distantly, he wonders if it is for the same reason Hinata didn’t attack the moment their eyes met. In that moment, he wishes he knew the Dark Mage’s name if only to just treat him like a human for a single moment, for just this meeting, to stop acting as if he’s nothing more that a _thing,_ a figment, a curse, a _monster_ like the one who crept in the depths of the Hatarakemura riverside. The Dark Mage looks at him as if he is the first person he’s seen in years, as if he too wants nothing more to be close. It shoots an arrow to Hinata’s heart, that his mind is so warped to play tricks on him, to make him think that the Dark Mage could _want_ him. Hinata’s knuckles go white, just like the burn in his chest, just like the moon which shines above their heads.

“You saved that town, didn’t you,” the Dark Mage states, nodding his head in the way of Hatarakemura. Hinata doesn’t follow his gaze, keeps his eyes fixed on him no matter how much it hurts. He clears his throat, breathing laboured as he tries to cough up a reply.

“Leviathan,” Hinata manages to say. The Dark Mage and him lock eyes, and for a few tantalizing seconds, neither of them can move. If Hinata didn’t know better, he’d call him shocked, say that the look that flashes across his face is that of regret— but as soon as it appears, it fades. Hinata gulps, growing smaller as his heartbeat rises between his ears, that gaze a thousand eyes piercing through him. “I— everyone survived. But the town— town didn’t.”

The Dark Mage’s face drops as he leans one arm onto his staff. It’s larger than Hinata’s, resting in the crook under his arm. “You’re their hero, then,” he states. Hinata watches his eyes break away, watches him gaze down at the fence as his teeth grind.

Hinata doesn’t know how to reply to that, so he doesn’t. The chill has yet to vanish, but heat rises to his cheeks. There aren’t words to describe how he feels as the lights, orange and plum, warm the Dark Mage’s cold face. He can’t control his heartbeat in the same way he can’t control the ache that weighs down his bones and threads through his ribs. If it wasn’t for the daggers of deep, aching pain that pierce through him, he would think he were flying, running on the fumes of something more than adrenaline, something bright and fierce and mighty. But he is aching, and he is forced to watch as the Dark Mage licks his tongue over his lips— chapped, cracking— and sighs, shaky and broken.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Hinata asks him, voice small. He watches the Dark Mage with wide eyes, reflecting the light he casts.

The Dark Mage tilts his head, lips quirking. “Do you want me to?”

Hinata’s breath hitches, throat seizing as he feverishly shakes his head, clawing at some semblance of composure. “That— that’s not what I meant—”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Dark Mage says. He coughs, voice laced with gravel and misuse. It shakes through his chest, cuts through the night in a way Hinata can almost feel. It’s jarring, not only the harsh scratch of his throat, but how he curls in on himself, how his face contorts as if this is normal. “You shouldn’t care.”

“But I do,” Hinata whispers. It slips out before he even realizes, tumbles from his lips with softness, gentleness. Just witnessing his pain is enough to make Hinata falter, to make him hesitate his entire mission, his destiny. For a moment, the Dark Mage tenses, inhaling sharply as he processes Hinata’s words. For a moment, Hinata forgets they’re supposed to be enemies.

“You _shouldn’t,”_ he snaps. “Don’t—” He’s cut off as his aura darkens again, pupils expanding as darkness begins to capture his entire eyes. Unlike the time before, it stops, flickers as his body twitches, the Dark Mage curling into himself as his jaw tightens. The aura flares up before fading back to violet as the Dark Mage blinks, eyes brown, reflecting light once more. He rubs them with the back of his free hand and pushes off of the tree, the sudden movement enough to cause Hinata’s grip to tighten on his staff out of reflex. The Dark Mage looks back towards Hinata, looking at his white knuckle grip. For some reason, his eyes crinkle at the edges— bitter, _sad._

“I— I need to leave,” he chokes. He grips his head as he straightens, gathering himself before shooting Hinata with a pointed stare. Hinata can see his jaw set tight, hands tremble, but he speaks, his tone steady. “Farewell for now, White Mage.”

Hinata steps forwards, freezing in his tracks. Every part of him screams in protest as the ache tears a void into his chest, an internal gash that _burns_. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes as words— _pleads—_ rise to his throat, none breaking through. Panic runs through his blood, and all Hinata can think is _nonono_ _don’t leave me not yet I still have so much to ask_ as he stands a statue, the Dark Mage already a world away.

The Dark Mage’s aura begins to surround him, deep purple smoke clouding around him until his face is no longer visible, until it clears to reveal a dark forest and Hinata— just Hinata— alone within it.

Hinata’s knees give way underneath him as he crumples to the ground. Tears held back by nothing more than shock begin to fall in fat droplets that soak through his pants as the void within him throbs, aching as if the Dark Mage took a piece of him when he left. The forest seems darker now, the lights of Koneko dimmer, further away.

Hinata doesn’t know how long he sits there, sobs shaking his body and he desperately attempts to push the tears away. His hands tremor alongside his breaths as he heaves, desperate to catch his racing heart, his racing thoughts, still reeling, still hurting deep from within. His staff lies next to him, untouched, unused even when in the face of such danger. And yet, the Dark Mage hardly seemed dangerous, hardly seemed murderous or deranged. If Hinata could call him anything, he’d call him _broken,_  call him strange.

But now, Hinata can’t think of much besides his face, his crackling voice, the brown locks of hair drifting in front of his darkening eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the irises blooming underneath speaking to the pained expression on his face. Hinata wishes he had crossed the fence to brush his cheek, to feel the softness, some primal _need_ burning that he can’t understand, that he doesn’t want to fight.

“Hinata?” Hinata hears a voice from behind him— Iwaizumi. Hinata’s heart stops, drops back down to his stomach as a newfound wave of anxiety washes through him. “Are you—”

He turns his head to look Iwaizumi, green scales glowing, lit from the oil lantern held loosely in one hand. Iwaizumi’s concern soon melts into something mournful, as if everything has been leading up to this, as if just through Hinata’s expression alone, he _knows._ Iwaizumi kneels down and opens his arms, lets Hinata presses his face to his shoulder as sobs begin to make their way up from his lungs and through his lips.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” Iwaizumi asks, voice quiet, low.

Hinata nods into his arm, and it feels _wrong_ that he’s so elated to have seen him— to have met the Dark Mage— and it feels so _wrong_ to want to despise that fact. Iwaizumi helps him off of the ground and hands him his staff, leads him back to Koneko humming a tune Hinata can’t name and saying nothing else, Hinata’s tears running in streams down his cheeks. That night will always be foggy from there on to him, will always escape his memory next to the grandeur of that meeting. All he can remember is slipping into his bed at the Koneko inn one last time and falling asleep with eyes of darkness waiting for him in his dreams.

—

They leave Koneko the next morning. A small crowd gathers at their dock as Kuroo prepares their boat. The ride to the opposite shore will take the day at least, meaning they need more than a simple row boat to get across. Kuroo’s boat is modest, but has a sizable deck for them to place their backs and a cushioned bench for them to rest on as they travel. Kuroo says they’re lucky for the wind in the sails and the current underneath, but Hinata thinks he’ll only be lucky when he reaches solid ground again.

His mind has been nowhere but the meeting the night before. For one last time, he buries it away, turns back to face Kenma with a real smile before he leaves.

“I’m gonna write, okay?” Hinata promises him, biting his lip. “You’re gonna hear all about my travels, don’t you worry!”

Kenma sighs, happy, hair covering half his face as he looks at his shoes with a tiny curve to his lips. “I think I’ll hear about them either way.”

Hinata grins, opening his arms to welcome Kenma into a small hug, balanced over the side of the boat. Kenma’s much better at keeping his footing than him, and pushes him back before he falls into the space between the dock and lands straight into the water below. That's enough to make everyone around them chuckle, Hinata dusting his hands off onto his trousers as he looks back up to Kenma.

Kenma worries his lips, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I… thank you. For saving Koneko,” Kenma tells him, looking over to where Kuroo stands, untying the ropes that hold the boat to the dock. “And for showing me I have something to fight for.”

Hinata’s heart swells alongside his smile, Kenma turning back to face him, a real smile on his face, wide enough to pull at his face and reveal a dimple on his cheek. He’s about to yank Kenma back in for another hug when the boat abruptly rocks, Iwaizumi stumbling back as Sugawara hoists his upper body to level with the deck.

“Aw, you aren't leaving so soon, are you, shimmer-scales?” he bemoans, cheek pressing to the cool wood of the boat as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Surprisingly, he doesn't shrug Sugawara off, instead sighing with less annoyance than he would a day ago and hoisting another one of their bags onto the ship.

“We have places to be,” Iwaizumi tells him, setting the bags down and turning to face him. “Thank you for all of your help, truly, Suga.”

Sugawara grins, teeth glinting in the morning sunlight. “I’ll miss your handsome face, but I have someone else my eyes’ll be on in the meantime,” he taunts, nodding his head over to where Daichi stands. Daichi shoots Iwaizumi a panicked look, causing Iwaizumi to shake his head and chuckle. “Come and visit sometime.”

The corner of Iwaizumi’s lips quirk up. “I will when I have the time.”

“Bye, Suga!” Hinata exclaims, waving just as Sugawara lets go of the side of the ship and splashes back down into the water, tail flicking water up and over the edge of the boat.

It’s then that they’re pushed off from the docks and into the current, sails unfurling to catch the breeze and steer them to the opposite shore. Hinata waves to the kids watching at the docks with their legs dipped into the water, fighting to keep this happiness, this warmth for just a moment longer. Beside him, Iwaizumi hums, a gentle kind of acceptance clear on his features. For once, his brow isn’t furrowed, eyes closed as the breeze washes over his face, running through his hair as he leans over the side of the boat to brush the water with his fingertips.

Their time in Koneko has come to an end— Hinata knows that much by now. As the town becomes nothing more than a dot on the horizons, and it’s cat-eared folk no more than figures among the trees, he finally tears his eyes away, swallowing his pride and letting himself remember the face of the Dark Mage glowing in Koneko’s lights. The sails whip at full mast, and Hinata takes another deep breath, knowing, deep in the pit of his chest, that he will see him again.

And, despite it all, he looks forward to the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT ENDS THE KURODAISUGA ARC!!! and they finally met....
> 
> questions comments theories? feel free to leave them down below!
> 
> next update comes April 1st!!


	8. Moonstone Cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy april fools day... happy easter... heres The Chapter
> 
> if you want the warnings for this chapter, they'll be in the end notes. be safe take care and enjoy!
> 
> —
> 
> HI ITS ME KJ AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAPTER BCUZ I KNOW WE ENJOYED WRITING IT WE MADE OURSELVES CRY A LITTLE

The wind across the East River is cool, keeping the heavy late summer sun off of their necks. The trip to the other side is supposed to take at least eight hours, leaving Hinata with plenty of time to lay back his head and regain his energy. The bounce back time needed after draining his energy seems much shorter than the first. Whether it’s because he didn’t come as close to death, or he’s more used to his magic, Hinata isn’t sure. Either way, he takes the travelling time in stride and observes things for a change.

Kuroo’s boat is a sailboat with its years showing in how the red paint has chipped away from the wood. The mast is painted white and stands tall, catching the breeze in its sail as Kuroo adjusts it from the helm. He whistles away, piques up from time to time, but mostly stays quiet for once. Hinata is grateful for the time to rest his eyes, to be lulled into sleep by the steady rock of the boat on the water.

Hinata doesn’t really get up after falling asleep. When he wakes, he simply cracks open his eyes and shuffles on his cushion, gazing across to where Iwaizumi sits. His cloak is draped over his shoulders, sleeves rolled up as he carves away at the fang he had found back in Koneko. The rough scrape of his dagger along the tooth is peaceful alongside the lap of water onto the sides of the boat, makes Hinata’s eyes droop lower and lower as he drifts between different states of wakefulness.

“Oi,” Kuroo calls out, causing Hinata to jerk upright, hair flattened on one side, blinking away sleep. “We’re nearly there.”

Hinata nods, rubbing his eyes. Neither he nor Iwaizumi emptied much of their bags, only opening them to pick away at food. There’s not much to pack away, leaving the two to simply gather themselves and stand as Kuroo beaches the boat gently onto a sandy portion of the riverbank. He turns back to Iwaizumi and Hinata, grinning as his tail flicks behind his head.

“Well, this is where I leave you,” he says, taking a small bow. “It’s been a pleasure. If you two weren’t so pure of heart, I’d say we were indebted to you, but I know you’d shrug it off.”

Hinata smiles, leaning onto his staff. “Thank you for taking us across!” he exclaims, balancing on the edge of the boat.

“And for all of your help,” Iwaizumi adds. He hops off of the boat without much trouble at all, lifting their bags from the deck once he’s on the beach. “I hope I can visit Koneko in the future.”

Kuroo nods with a grin, tossing him the last bag. “I’ll send you two the wedding invites. Hope you aren’t too busy saving the world.” Hinata jumps down to join Iwaizumi on land, causing Kuroo to sigh, stretching his arms out over his head. “Go on, fulfill your _destiny_ or whatnot,” he teases. “Good luck with the west, you two.”

“Good luck with the town!” Hinata calls back, hoisting a bag onto his shoulder.

Iwaizumi nods to Kuroo, fixing his arms through the sleeves of his cloak. “Don’t hesitate to call if anything else goes wrong,” he tells him. “Take care.”

Kuroo sends them off with a mock salute, wedging an oar into the sand to push the boat off from the shore. It isn’t long after that the current pulls his boat back into the water, leaving Iwaizumi and Hinata to gather their things and make the trek towards Moonstone Cave.  

This side of the river is carved from bedrock, trees and grass sprouting from the soil that’s managed to nestle between the cracks. Hinata loses his footing every so often, nearly tripping over exposed roots or uneven stones as they hike their way to the main road. Iwaizumi seems to know the way, occasionally glancing at a small compass for direction before leading Hinata deeper into the thickets of trees. The sun shines through the trees, warming their backs and fighting the cool breeze blowing from the river. The walking conditions are nice, but Hinata finds himself missing the simplicity of horse drawn caravans and quicker transportation.

Neither would change the fact that Hinata spends the trip inside of his own head, distractions dwindled to none, the Dark Mage on the forefront of his mind. Remembering that night grows the ache in his chest, makes his lungs heavy with the burden of trying to understand why he had appeared, what he had meant, why his eyes were so pained every time Hinata spoke. His bitterness was tangible in his every mannerism, from the grind of his teeth to the literal blackening of his eyes, and yet Hinata remains unscratched, not a finger laid on him. If he had moved first, would the Dark Mage have attacked? Would Hinata have stood a chance?

It’d be enough to simmer in without Iwaizumi knowing, without him being able to put two and two together in an instant. There are things left unsaid between the both of them, secrets held between their ribs they’ve yet to bring to the light, truths hidden in omission. As Hinata walks, he steals glances at Iwaizumi, at the scales which cover his body. He’s hardly worn his skin in the time since they’ve arrived in Koneko. As unsettled as he is now, Hinata finds some semblance of comfort in that, in knowing at the very least, he still trusts him.

It’s after a few hours of travelling the main road that Hinata begins to notice things awry. Despite the bridge being destroyed, the road remains the major connecting route to cross the river, by boat in this case, but as they move along, they pass no other travellers. The roads near Torino were always this way, but Torino was small and the monsters made travelling a dangerous feat. Here, they lie on the artery that connects the capital to the rest of the country, and not a single soul can be seen.

“Hinata,” Iwaizumi says, slowing to a stop. “Come look at this.”

Hinata turns, jogging back to where Iwaizumi had stopped in front of a cluster of poplar trees. He follows his gaze to the side of the biggest tree, where a blackened scorch mark is left burnt into the bark, shaped almost like a hand. Hinata takes a step closer, stepping between the roots to touch his fingers to the handprint, feeling how the ash crumbles beneath his fingertips before falling to the ground. Something inside of him twinges, the same recognition of a _bad feeling_ he got from the fog in Koneko. Turning back to Iwaizumi, he’s met with a furrowed brow as he awaits Hinata’s evaluation.

“It’s not potent, but it’s dark magic of some sorts,” Hinata tells him, crumbling the rest of the ash between his fingers. He jumps back onto the road, steadying himself with his staff. “I don’t think it’s recent, but it’s worrying, don’t you think?”

Iwaizumi hums in response, chewing on his lip. “It means we’re getting closer, if anything. We’ll have to leave the main road again to get to the cave— there should be a trail made by the Royal Order somewhere on the left.” He looks up at the sky, squinting into the sun. “We should hurry— the nights are quite dangerous here.”

Hinata shudders, flicking his gaze back to the burnt handprint. He quickly rips his eyes away and nods, following Iwaizumi back along the road. Sure enough, they reach a hastily carved path that twists through the trees within another hour. It’s much smaller, but wide enough that the two can walk side by side in the divets where caravan wheels have pushed through. The closer they get, the more and more Hinata’s mind begins to try and fill in the gaps of what he knows about the Dark Mage worshippers with his imagination. The largest hurdle is why anyone could worship death and destruction, why they'd wreak havoc in the name of someone who is all but a phantom behind creatures of darkness.

No matter what he thinks, his mind always comes back to the Dark Mage. _Always._

Sunset creeps up on them in a matter of moments, the sky turning to orange and casting misshapen shadows from bent trees across the stone. Iwaizumi clicks his tongue as he looks up at the sky, pausing as the two take a drink of water. With nighttime coming quicker than expected, the two are forced to set up camp. They head further into the forest, enough so that they won’t be seen from the path itself. On a patch of ground that’s been cushioned with leaves, Iwaizumi lays down a thick blanket, patting it down with one hand.

“Can you find some branches?” Iwaizumi asks as he pulls down one of the arms of a nearby tree, arching it over the blanket. “I’ll start building a shelter for us for the night.” He shifts, using his free hand to reach into his cloak and pull out his dagger. “Here, use this.”

Hinata nods quickly, taking the knife from him and watching as Iwaizumi returns to the task of tying down the arm. Hinata lets himself simply observe how Iwaizumi’s hands tie knots in the wood as if it were string, careful not to split the branch itself, before spinning on his heel to being searching. The hardest part is reaching the branches themselves— Hinata is forced first to stand on the points of his toes before resorting to jumping, swiping the knife down as he goes. That proves to be a dangerous effort as he misses nine times out of ten, Hinata finally giving up and just climbing the trees to collect their lowest branches. It’s mindless work, work that distracts him as he drags the branches back towards their small camp, leaves rustling behind him. When he arrives, Iwaizumi smiles at him with careful pride, eyes twinkling as he motions for Hinata to bring the branches closer.

Hinata sits back, letting Iwaizumi take over. He curls the branches around the main spine of the shelter, leaning them up against the sturdy trunk of the base tree and tying them with thick fishing twine. Hinata wonders how often he’s done this, how familiar he must be with the woods to create a small home amongst the trees in a matter of minutes. Calloused hands work the wood with practiced ease, and before the sun has even fully set in the sky, their shelter is built.

It isn’t small in any sense, built tall enough that Iwaizumi can sit up and large enough that they’ll be able to sleep side by side. The foliage on the branches covers their heads while the cushioning of fallen leaves makes a mattress more comfortable than lying on the rock alone. Hinata admires it with wide eyes, happy that they’ll be able to rest protected through the night.

The only thing Hinata can do to protect them is set up a shield. Nervousness still flickers through him at the thought of spending his energy, but he figures by now it should be recovered enough that a simple barrier won’t make him tired. It’s small in size, only covering a few feet outside of their shelter, but he’s confident it’ll hold the night and will keep the dangers of the forest off of their backs.

After a day of travelling and mentally exhausting himself with thoughts of the night before, Hinata is more than happy to collapse onto the ground and spark a small fire. He tends the flame while Iwaizumi leaves to see if he can find anything fresh to eat. Being alone, even if Iwaizumi is close enough for him still to hear, does strange things to Hinata’s mind. His eyes drift shut for a moment, only to meet the Dark Mage’s in the back of his mind. It startles him at the same time that it warms the ache in his chest even as it deepens.

“Hinata?” Iwaizumi calls out, snapping him from his mind. Hinata looks up to see him holding a small cloth in his hand, kneeling down on the other side of the campfire. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no!” Hinata assures him, rubbing his face before sitting up. “I just— I was thinking.”

Iwaizumi nods, not pressing any further. “I got us food. Figured it’s better to save our preserves,” he says instead. Hinata leans over to peer at what Iwaizumi had gathered. He unfurls the cloth to reveal a dozen or so mushroom caps, some kind of tubers and roots and a few leaves, placing them on his lap and grabbing a bare stick from beside him. He pierces a few of the assorted finds across the stick, holding it out for Hinata to take.

They roast their food over the fire in relative silence, both too busy focusing on the prospect of food to speak. Iwaizumi very nearly snaps his stick in half while pulling the food off with his teeth, and Hinata inhales his mushrooms so quickly he hardly even tastes them.

They finish by the time the sky has turned to navy, stars beginning to pinprick the fabric of the sky above their heads. Hinata pulls his cape tighter around him as Iwaizumi finishes hiding their bags underneath the leftover branches, still sitting by the fire to warm him as the air cools. Something isn’t sitting right between them— their usual chatter has faded to almost nothing, and if Hinata didn’t know Iwaizumi as well as he does after travelling with him, he’d think he was being avoided. Really, he just seems to be thinking something Hinata can't decipher— shoulders tensed and forehead wrinkled as if his thoughts are loud enough to hurt his head.

Hinata can relate to that. He stares into the dancing flames and catches sight of the Dark Mage’s bitter smile, sees a figure in the fire that reminds him of the burn of hearing his voice, of being spoken to. Is he watching him now, in that crystal ball from that stone tower where he resides? Is he tracing Hinata’s image, thinking about that fateful night, reliving every second as Hinata has since the moment he left?

Hinata’s eyes are torn from the fire as Iwaizumi sits down across from him. The light cascades off of his scales as if they were glass, green and gold warmed by the fire’s glow, shining as bright as the stars overhead. Hinata busies himself in admiring them in the moments before Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and speaks.

“I have something I need to admit,” he says, voice low, rumbling alongside the pop of the fire.

Hinata reflexively becomes panicked, forcing down the desire to run away with a careful tilt of his head, his shoulders going rigid despite his attempts to relax as he waits for Iwaizumi to continue. His eyes are piercing through him, pupils widened in the low light yet sharp as he mulls over his words. Hinata doesn’t think he could move if he tried.

“Do you remember, in Shiratori, when I told you about an old friend I had?” he asks. His words come slow, as if he has thought on them for much longer than the pause between sentences. Hinata nods, still not trusting himself to break the concentration Iwaizumi holds with his voice. The ache in his chest has made itself known again, ebbing like a second heartbeat as his stomach churns. Iwaizumi purses his lips.

“That friend was the Dark Mage,” he tells him.

A part of Hinata is surprised, dumbfounded, even, that the First Knight of the Royal Order could have been friends with the most terrifying entity in all of history. Yet, a larger part of him pieces it together— the look of shock, of recognition when Hinata had created his illusion, how he seemed to know Hinata had been visited without him even having to say. Words leave Hinata without a response as Iwaizumi gauges his reaction, hands now gripping the fabric of his trousers as the silence between them grows.

“When?” Hinata asks, surprised at how gentle his tone is, though it trembles with nerves against his will.

“When he was young,” Iwaizumi tells him, and his expression changes to almost fondness as he reminisces before curling into pity. “Before he was the Dark Mage. When he was just a boy named Oikawa.”

“Oikawa,” Hinata breathes, and the name falls from his tongue with a kind of ease that feels right, that feels familiar, that feels natural. He wants to say it again, to repeat the name, to reimagine the boy with the tattered robes now that he is more than a nameless tormentor, but holds himself back. Iwaizumi is waiting for his response, still watching his every move. “Just— just Oikawa?”

“Oikawa Tooru,” Iwaizumi answers.

“Tooru…” Hinata whispers, voice coming out so much fonder than he meant it to be. Iwaizumi doesn’t bristle at his softness, as if he expected Hinata to react just how he has been. Hinata’s stomach flutters, chest tightening as he braves his voice again, eyes still locked with Iwaizumi, still holding his gaze. “What… happened? To him?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer that. Instead, his aura of calm crumbles into that of pain, mouth falling open and twisting into a grimace as his eyes tear from Hinata’s and down to the fire. His shoulders pull tight, and Hinata doesn’t ask again.

“You should sleep,” Hinata tells him. “We— we should sleep.”

Iwaizumi nods, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand. “You’re right. Can you put out the fire?”

“Yeah,” Hinata replies, hand already swiping over the flame to snuff it out. As the light dies, Iwaizumi’s scales change, the moonlight bringing out the blue and making the brightest part of him his eyes. Even through the darkness, they shine bright enough to centre Hinata, to speak words he cannot.

They squeeze into the shelter and use their cloaks as blankets to keep them warm, lying only a foot from each other and confined to the small room fashioned of leaves and wood. Even with nature breathing serenity around them, Iwaizumi remains tense, enough so that Hinata can feel the pinch of his shoulder blades as he lies down.

“Thank you, Iwaizumi,” Hinata whispers as he closes his eyes. “Sleep— sleep well.”

There’s no response for a moment, before Iwaizumi hums, quiet, nearly unheard. “May you find crystal in your rest.”

As Hinata drifts off to sleep with the Dark Mage’s name echoing in his mind— _Oikawa Tooru,_ _Oikawa Tooru—_ he makes note to ask Iwaizumi what he means. For now, he prays half for sleep undisturbed and half for images of him, of _Oikawa,_ even if just behind his eyes in the darkness before sleep.

—

Morning comes early with stiff backs and sun piercing through leaves. They disassemble the shelter and drop the shield within minutes of waking, already stretching out and making sure all their things are accounted for before heading back onto the path. Hinata thanks the gods for at the very least letting the both of them sleep through the night without trouble.

Not much passes through Hinata’s mind as they travel, not much else besides a name. Oikawa Tooru fits every memory Hinata has of the boy perfectly, fits his image like a glove and makes Hinata feel as if he knows something about him. In reality, he knows this is false— all of the things he can hold to Oikawa’s name would fit in his hands. Iwaizumi’s story of his past remains a mystery too painful to tell, and every other myth about _him_ has been passed around like borrowed blankets or good secrets never kept. All of Hinata’s feelings towards him are based on a gut feeling he can’t even begin to understand, something a greater destiny either wants or hates, something he doesn’t want to ever leave.

“We shouldn’t be far now,” Iwaizumi says, voice still heavy with sleep. “There are scouts in the trees closer to their settlement— they’ll catch sight of us soon.”

No sooner does he speak that Hinata looks up to see wooden outposts built into trees, guards standing tall as they pass by. Slowly, Hinata brings his hands to the brim of his hat, adjusting it to make sure it isn’t covering his face as they walk towards a meadow in a clearing where the Royal Order bustles.

Hinata isn’t sure whether to call what he sees busy or simply chaotic. Two armor clad soldiers carry another on a stretcher, who groans as they attempt to sit up, while clusters of people huddle around weapons stations, sharpening their swords and collecting arrows. Hinata spares Iwaizumi a nervous glance, only to be taken aback at realizing his scales are missing, skin human once again as his back straightens. His entire demeanor demands a kind of respect that has even Hinata holding himself higher, the knights around them looking their way and silencing their chatter. It’s still strange, to have people bow as he passes, for the knights to salute them and watch behind their masks of professionalism with sheer awe. Hinata is sure Iwaizumi is used to it by now, but it still leaves him turning his head as if everyone is simply looking right through them.

“Iwaizumi, sir!” someone calls out, pushing through the crowd. He and Hinata turn their heads to see a boy with hair maintaining half of his height running towards them, falling into a bow once he’s close enough to catch his breath. “White Mage, I— thank you for coming!”

“At ease, Kindaichi,” Iwaizumi tells him. Kindaichi stands, body fixed forwards while he spares Hinata fleeting sideways glances. “What’s the status?”

“We aren’t engaged currently, sir.”

“Where’s Kageyama?”

“The lead operatives tent. Should I lead you— you both to him?” Kindaichi asks.

Hinata bites his lip, trying his best to summon a voice that carries half of the poise of Iwaizumi’s. “Um, we have a lot of things we should deal with— put down— before we plan.” He fails.

Kindaichi turns to Hinata, eyes growing ten times in size as he bows again. “Of course, White Mage!” he exclaims, already grabbing the pack from Hinata’s outstretched arm. “I’ll bring these to your quarters and have Kunimi lead you to Kageyama.”

A boy with dark hair falling over his face steps forwards, giving a modest salute as he approaches them. “Iwaizumi, sir— White Mage.”

“Just Hinata is fine,” Hinata mumbles. He isn’t sure the boy— Kunimi— catches it.

Iwaizumi sets his things down for Kindaichi to take. He picks up the first bag with ease, but the second makes him stumble as he tries to pull it off the ground. Iwaizumi sighs, leaning down to pull out the partially carved fang and sling it over his back, the bag considerably lighter for Kindaichi to carry.

“Thank you, Kindaichi,” Iwaizumi says. “That should be all for now.”

“Yessir!” Kindaichi calls, stumbling slightly but carrying the bags away. He manages to push his way back through the crowd, which has doubled since Hinata and Iwaizumi arrived. No one makes any show to hide their obvious gawking, listening intently until Iwaizumi clears his throat, everyone hastily dispersing as Kunimi leads them to the lead operatives tent. For them, however, the remaining clusters of people part, making a clear path with no resistance.

The camp looks unlike anything Hinata has ever seen. It’s built upon a meadow, wildflowers and grass still poking up between the tents and ruts from carriages. They pass an open tent where people sit around tables and eat, another closed where people with worried faces carry salves and bandages in and out, and yet many more to house the many people who have made settlement in the field. Iwaizumi’s cloak is less out of place here, many of the other knights sporting similar ones went their bodies aren’t covered in armor.

Kunimi stops outside of the operatives tent, lifting the flap for them to enter. “I don’t have clearance to enter,” he explains. “But I can wait outside to escort you afterwards.”

“We’ll manage, Kunimi— thank you,” Iwaizumi tells him. Kunimi bows once to him and once to Hinata before turning to head back, leaving Hinata and Iwaizumi to slip into the tent and close the flap behind them.

They’re first greeted with a room lit by candles, and the thick scent of old paper and ink. The second thing that hits them is the raised voices.

“In what way is that a good idea?!” a boy with cold eyes and dark hair snaps, looking up from a scroll in front of him.

“W-with all due respect, sir—”

“You’re suggesting we deploy _all_ of our resources at once, as if leaving our wounded _and_ the cult members we’ve captured unattended is a good idea?!”

“I— I never said it was perfect—” the man the dark haired boy is shouting at stutters, cut off with a clicked tongue.

“Then why the hell did you suggest it?” he growls.

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi calls out, voice terse. Both he and his shouting partner turn to face them, the latter’s face dropping once he realizes the company he’s in. Hinata feels much smaller under the sharpness of the dark haired man’s glare, and tenses up as he grumbles.

“You’re dismissed,” he snaps. The other man nods, bowing to him, Iwaizumi, and Hinata before bolting out of the tent.

Once they’re alone, Iwaizumi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t need to beat a dead horse, Kageyama. He knew he was wrong,” he says.

“My apologies that you had to see that Iwaizumi, sir!” Kageyama nearly shouts, bolting up straight and bowing.

Iwaizumi waves his hand dismissively. “Hold your temper next time. How bad has it been here?”

Kageyama scowls, looking back down at his map. “We’ve lost thirty soldiers. Roughly twenty are being healed— who is this?” he jerks his head in Hinata’s direction.

Hinata is still reeling from the casualty count when he’s acknowledged, and nearly jumps in surprise. “Hinata Shouyou!” he calls out. “I’m— uh— the White Mage!”

Kageyama narrows his eyes, as if to scrutinize the integrity of his claim. _“You’re_ the White Mage?” he asks, looking him up and down. “You’re hardly armed beyond that staff— where the hell is your armor? How can I trust you when you’re so unprepared—”

Hinata bristles. “I’m not unprepar—” he starts, cut off by Iwaizumi.

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi snaps. “He nearly brought me back from the dead with the heal he did and held back waves a hundred feet high.”

At that, Kageyama straightens. “My apologies, Iwaizumi, sir,” he says once more, voice holding back a certain kind of bitterness. He turns back to Hinata, nose still pinched as he squints at him. “If you can heal, heal the soldiers dying in the tent across from us.”

Iwaizumi looks ready to dispute before Hinata speaks up. “I’ll do it!” he shouts, mostly because the thought of people dying in a dimly lit tent makes him squirm and partly because he wants to prove Kageyama and his abrasive personality wrong.

“You have medics, Kageyama. It can wait long enough for us to get up to speed,” Iwaizumi says. Hinata pouts slightly at that, but doesn’t argue, moving closer to get a look at the scroll in front of Kageyama. It looks to be a detailed map of the cave system, some sections intricately drawn, others no more than vague scribbles.

“We launched a raid the day before yesterday, but there were too many losses to consider it a clean win,” Kageyama starts, looking back down at his map. “The closest towns have been evacuated after the murders were linked back to the cult. They were used in sacrifice.”

Hinata shudders. “Why would they do all that?”

Kageyama doesn’t even bother looking up. “Because they’re disgusting and think it’ll summon the Dark Mage,” he answers. “How have you not figured that out yet?”

Hinata opens his mouth to retort, but Iwaizumi places a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “How many do they have in their ranks?”

“In this location?” Kageyama tilts his head. “We’ve captured twenty-five of the lower ranking ones. Reconnaissance says there was forty originally.”

“Intel?”

“Seems to be led by twins— Miya Atsumu and Osamu. Proficient in dark arts and a pain in the ass,” Kageyama bites. “Most of the ones we captured were shit at magic, but they caused enough danger together. The ones left are more skilled.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t seemed put off by Kageyama’s crude language despite his earlier calls for respect. Kageyama abruptly looks up to Hinata, eyes narrowing. “Their goal will be to kill you as soon as they realize you’re here,” he says. “If you can’t deliver—”

“He will,” Iwaizumi answers, voice stern. “It’s not your place to judge his abilities.”

Kageyama visibly stiffens, dropping his gaze and nodding. “Of course, Iwaizumi, sir.” He cracks his knuckles, taking a deep breath. “Help heal the soldiers. I’ll come up with a plan.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Iwaizumi says, bowing his head before leading the way out of the tent. Hinata pauses before exiting, taking one last look at the dim candlelight of the tent and Kageyama’s almost constipated expression. With a wave of his hand, he extinguishes the candles before relighting them each, the flames burning white and lighting every corner of the room. Hinata whips his head around and darts out of the tent before he can see Kageyama’s expression.

Once out, Iwaizumi rubs his head, groaning as his shoulders drop. “I’m sorry about him, Hinata. He’s brilliant, yes, but takes some getting used to.”

“I mean, if he does his job well,” Hinata says, a grin spreading across his face. “But I want to prove to him I’m worth being here!”

Iwaizumi’s reaction is not what Hinata could’ve expected. It isn’t a sigh of fondness or a joking roll of his eyes, nor is it a careful lesson or clap to the back. It’s a laugh that rumbles in his chest as he ruffles Hinata’s head, an affectionate smile sent Hinata’s way. Hinata beams up at him in return, happy albeit a bit confused at the different treatment. Regardless, they continue forward, heading over to the medic’s tent.

Their mood drops, however, once they enter. The wounded tent is made of a thinner material than the one they were just in, allowing for light to brighten it somewhat, but creating a dim gloom inside that candles can’t fix. It’s crowded, with medics and healers bending over bodies on beds and the ground, hands pressed to foreheads and splints behind fastened to legs. Hinata’s chest seizes at the sight of a man's eyes covered in a wet cloth, shivering and lying alone by the wall. Hinata gravitates towards him, kneeling down as he tenses, a sickly purple colour tingeing his veins.

“White Mage,” a medic says from behind them. Hinata turns in time to see them bow their head. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“What— what happened?” Hinata asks, turning back to the wounded.

“The cult members. We can heal the broken bones, but not the dark magic,” they say. “If you could do something for them—”

Hinata’s hands have already gone to grab his staff, resting the tip of it on the man’s chest as he closes his eyes. Unlike healing Iwaizumi, he simply looks for the knot of dark magic, feeling it radiate throughout the entire room, perpetuating from each body. With a deep breath, he opens his eyes, watching as not only the man, but the whole tent glows white for a few seconds. Everyone freezes, swivelling around to stare at Hinata as the glow subsides, returning back to the normal gloom. Now, though, the man’s skin returns to a warmer tone, his breaths becoming less and less laboured.

It’s like that for nearly everyone, people beginning to sit up and stretch their arms, perplexed as they flex hands covered in bandages that were once blackened. Hinata doesn’t feel as tired as he thought he would— a relief, one that lets him know his magical capacity has been restored enough. Hinata lets the pride of healing, of helping people otherwise dying without aid swell through him, turning to smile at Iwaizumi, who looks almost as amazed as everyone else. _Almost—_ instead of surprise, he holds a knowing look to his eyes that Hinata would call pride, too.

—

They return to the operative’s tent to see Kageyama with another scroll rolled out across the table, room still lit by Hinata’s white flame. Iwaizumi shoots him a confused glance, which Hinata chooses to ignore with tinted cheeks, both becoming preoccupied with staring at the layout Kageyama has made. Several pins are stabbed through his map, the other scroll covered in a messy scrawl Hinata presumes to be Kageyama’s, judging by the smear of charcoal on his hand.

“The cult convenes deeper inside the cave than any of our scouts have managed to come back from,” Kageyama says, skipping the formalities as he traces his finger over the map. “The best bet is to cause a commotion in the largest cavern here—” He jabs the map forcefully, pointing to a huge open space, “—and use the White Mage as bait to drag them outside for us to catch. If necessary, they can be killed, but they provide more answers to us alive.”

“Bait,” Hinata repeats, chewing over the plan. To be fair, it was his original idea as well. Puffing his chest, he nods. “I’ll be the best bait that there is!”

Kageyama stares at him, opening his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but a pointed glance from Iwaizumi forces him keep his mouth shut and continue with the plan. “The squadrons of the Order remaining will be positioned outside. If you need back up, sound a whistle. Setting explosions off may be dangerous.”

“You don’t think they’d attempt to ambush the two of us and trap us in?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kageyama tilts his head. “If I may, I’ve seen you lift two grown men over your head at the same time, and he’s _supposedly_ the most powerful person alive right now. You should be fine.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Iwaizumi says.

“When do we leave?” Hinata asks, leaning over Kageyama’s shoulder to get a better look at his map. “Can I take this? It seems like a maze in there.”

 _"No,_  you can have a copy,” Kageyama practically growls, pushing him off. “We leave tomorrow, midday.”

“The caves are thirty minutes away by foot, ten by horse,” Iwaizumi says, tracing the map with one nail. “Let’s hope they cult doesn’t attack us overnight.”

“They haven’t ambushed us since we arrived,” Kageyama tells him. “They just want to cause chaos in the Dark Mage’s name. In this case, that’s murder. We’re just keeping them from leaving their hideout— sitting ducks.” He chews his lip, grumbling under his breath. “I hate sitting ducks.”

“There’s error in haste, Kageyama. Diamonds are formed in the pressure of waiting,” Iwaizumi says. “You won’t make progress by being impatient.”

Kageyama nods, averting his eyes. “Yessir, of course,” he says. “There’s one last thing you need to know. The caves are filled with some kind of fume. We’ve yet to determine its cause.”

“Fume?” Hinata asks. “What does it do?”

“Kill you,” Kageyama replies. “What else would it do?”

“How do you even get scouts in, then?” Hinata exclaims.

“It doesn’t kill you _immediately,_ just after too long of breathing it it can become toxic to most humans. There are a few elves in the Order who faired slightly better, but not by much.”

Iwaizumi nods slowly, eyebrows furrowed. “How long does the average person have?” he says.

“A few hours. It’s slow at first, but gets bad quick,” Kageyama explains. “That’s all I have. Thank you for assisting us, Iwaizumi, sir.”

“It all worked out. Though I’m sorry for being late,” Iwaizumi says. “The creature in the East River turned out to be the Sea Serpent Leviathan.”

That shocks Kageyama, has him choking on his spit as he jerks upright, looking between the two of them. “You— you took down a _Leviathan?”_

“Nono! More like chased it out— no one can _kill_ a leviathan,” Hinata tells him, waving his arms wildly around.

“It won’t be back this way anytime soon,” Iwaizumi assures him. “But that’s the past— we have this to focus on now.”

“R-right,” Kageyama stumbles over his response, still reeling from the information. “That’s all the debriefing I had. You’re free to do as you choose until tomorrow morning. There’s a communal tent and a training field, if you’d like.”

“We’ll manage,” Iwaizumi says. “See you, Kageyama.”

Hinata gives a tentative wave, ignoring how Kageyama seems almost frustrated that he has to bow to him as well. They leave the tent once more with a plan made and more confidence and knowledge about their foe than probably ever before. Hinata likes these odds— he can’t help but feel as if this may just be a hop, skip and a jump with the Royal Order behind them.

—

Iwaizumi is popular within the Royal Order, even excluding his rank as First Knight. In the weapons area, where he gets his dagger sharpened, nearly every other patron makes an effort to say hello. Iwaizumi seems to recognize many of them too, recalling names and learning those whose he can’t. He makes an effort to introduce Hinata as well, which would be fine for Hinata, if not for how nearly every soldier gets shocked back into their dutiful formality the second they recognize him as the White Mage.

There’s a nice community aspect to the Royal Order, one that almost overshadows the bags under every soldier's eyes, the scars that litter every knight’s face. No matter their age, every person Hinata meets is a warrior. The number of casualties echoes through his head once more, causing Hinata to gulp and remember his goal— to stop the cult, to keep the people safe.

Iwaizumi and Hinata visit their tent— small, but private with enough room for both of them. Despite the new sights, there isn’t an awful lot to do— there’s a strict perimeter no one can leave, and Hinata isn’t seen as the most approachable for the sole reason being his name. Eventually, Iwaizumi picks up his sword and holsters it to his back, turning to Hinata with a half smile.

“I’m thinking about heading to the training grounds to see if anyone wants to spar. Do you wanna watch?” he asks.

“Of course!” Hinata exclaims, no hesitation as he slaps his hat back onto his head.

The training grounds are nothing more than an empty field with a few targets for arrows and a flat plane with good footing for fighting. There are a few archers shooting targets when they arrive, but the real commotion is the semicircle watching as soldiers fight it out. The crowd parts for Hinata and Iwaizumi as they make their ways to the front, watching as one of the compatriots surrenders, tapping out as his competitor lifts her sword from where it was held next to his head. The crowd cheers as she bows before walking off to get a drink of water.

“Hey, Iwaizumi!” someone calls. “We never did get that rematch!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as another person shouts. “Idiot, you know he’ll wipe the floor with you!”

“Yeah, but he’s fun to fight!”

Hinata elbows him in the side, already grinning. “You gonna go or what?” he jests, tongue caught between teeth.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, playfully pushing Hinata’s hand away, not strong enough to hurt, but with enough force that he stumbles just a bit. Hinata giggles, watching as Iwaizumi shrugs off his cloak and pulls his sword from his back, broad shoulders stretching the material of his tank as he holds it at the ready, making his way out of the crowd and into the field where a competitor already stands. Someone tosses him a guard for his sword, which he swiftly applies to keep the blade dull enough that no one will be seriously hurt.

“No armor?” the competitor asks, his own chest plate glinting in the late afternoon sun.

Iwaizumi shrugs, rolling out his shoulder. “I’ll manage.”

That’s all that’s needed to commence the fight, the fighter running forwards with his sword raised, Iwaizumi striking at his side at the same time that he ducks out of the way. His speed is ten times that of the fighter, and it only takes ten more seconds for him to swipe his feet out from under him and send him rolling. The fighter is persistent, though, and smacks his sword to Iwaizumi’s shin. Iwaizumi hardly even reacts, foot landing on his chest as his sword moves to rest by his head.

Hinata watches in awe as the crowd erupts in cheers, Iwaizumi having beaten the man in less than a minute. He helps him to a stand, nodding while his opponent rubs his side where he was struck. “Anyone else?” Iwaizumi says, tone joking, only for half the crowd to raise their hands.

“No guards,” one girl calls out, decked in full armor as she steps forwards. “Are you up for it, sir?”

Iwaizumi nods, already slipping the guard from his sword. “First to mercy, anything goes,” he says, the girl already taking a running start.

Instead of hitting head on like the last attacker did, she feints to the side, aiming for Iwaizumi’s bare bicep. In a split second, his brown skin flashes green, scales coating his arm all the way down to his fingertips, the girl’s blade sliding off without leaving so much as a scratch. Hinata watches with wide eyes as the girl stays on offensive, broad swinging stroke aiming for different sides of Iwaizumi’s body, which he in turn covers each point hit in scales. Eventually, he uses the hilt of his sword to stun her, pushing her back three feet and causing her to stumble long enough for Iwaizumi to surge forwards and swing his sword to a stop at her side.

“When you fight, you tend to use a two handed grip on your sword. Good for power, but leaves your sides vulnerable. Make sure you get armor that’s plated all around, or else you’d be cut in two,” Iwaizumi tells her, lowering his sword. The girl nods eagerly, bowing before trotting off.

It continues like that, Iwaizumi sparring with each opponent for a little under a minute, giving them tips after they fight. Eventually, Kunimi and Kindaichi make their ways to Hinata’s side, commenting on things like form and his upper body strength, the latter being the thing Hinata can attest to.

“You know,” Kunimi says as Iwaizumi walks through, step by step, a move with a younger soldier. “I’ve never met him before. Can he do those scales all over?”

Hinata nods, eyes still trained on Iwaizumi, on the look of absolute seriousness as he trains not just himself, but the other soldiers as well, steps planned and calculated as if it were a dance. “He can do them all over— it’s pretty cool!”

Kunimi hums. “I don’t know much about half-dragons. Or dragons in general, for that matter.”

“I’ve done a lot of research on half-dragons, actually!” Kindaichi butts in. Hinata looks over to him, brightening in curiosity.

“I wonder why,” Kunimi says, flat-toned. Kindaichi turns an impressive shade of red, sputtering for a few moments before Hinata speaks up, oblivious.

“What do you know?” he asks. “I always wanted to ask him, but it’s a bit hard to bring up. There’s always something else happening.”

“Well for starters, they’re usually half-human and half-dragon,” Kindaichi says, excitement bleeding into his voice as he starts.

“Really?” Kunimi deadpans. “You don’t say.”

“Well, yeah! And they’re really strong, y’know? Like most of them can lift boulders and the like like it’s nothing!” Kindaichi continues, taking Kunimi’s words as genuine. Kunimi hums, staring forward towards the fighting as Hinata eagerly nods. “They also have super heightened senses, like hearing and sight.”

“So he’s probably hearing all of this right now,” Kunimi mutters. “Great.”

“Don’t forget the scales,” Hinata jumps in. “That’s the coolest part!”

“Right!” Kindaichi shouts, nodding exuberantly. “They live longer, too. Not _dragon_ long— maybe a few human lifespans. No one really sees them around because they’re really rare.”

Hinata’s eyes widen. He never considered the possibility of Iwaizumi having a longer lifespan than he does, but the thought makes sense. He’s quickly caught off guard by Kunimi clearing his throat, voice lowering.

“If half-dragons exist, then how do…” he whispers awkwardly. “How do they, you know, have kids?”

Hinata’s face burns at the subject, Kindaichi continuing on like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “Oh! They transform and then it’s per usual! If the female is the dragon—”

“Okay, that’s enough information for me,” Kunimi cuts in just as the crowd begins to cheer again, only this time because Iwaizumi’s student has completed the move. He claps them on the back, giving them a small smile before wandering back to Hinata to pick up his cloak, nodding to both Kunimi and Kindaichi.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Iwaizumi says, throwing the cloak over one shoulder. “I’m going to grab food, if you want to come. Kunimi, Kindaichi, you’re welcome as well.”

“Thank you, sir! Of course we will!” Kindaichi says. Kunimi looks like he’s holding back a sigh behind him, but follows as well.

Hinata smiles to himself, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes as they wander back through the camp. _One day,_ he vows to himself. _On the trip to the next destination, I’ll ask him more about it._

—

The next day starts off with a bang. Or rather, an alarm.

Hinata jolts up and throws off his blanket, reaching for his staff and his cape as Iwaizumi scrambles to the door, sword in hand. They aren’t the only ones awake— everyone else bursts from their tents in an order so quick Hinata guesses they’ve trained for it. However, all procedure is stopped in its tracks at the sight of a crimson dragon circling above them, roaring loud enough to shake the earth. Hinata’s chest seizes as he spots archers already raising their bows, taking aim only for their arrows to miss entirely, the dragon swooping lower as its jaws unhinge. Someone screams, and people begin to shout orders, and Hinata just _stares_ at the massive creature and at the tiny flicker to its stomach—

“Quiet!” Iwaizumi yells, the panic subduing enough that there is momentary silence. “That isn’t a real dragon!”

“It’s an illusion,” Hinata whispers, spotting all of the tiny imperfections— the cloudiness on its underside, how the tail is thinner, lighter than its body.

Iwaizumi grumbles, shaking his head. “Hinata, can you dispel it?” he asks as the illusionary dragon roars again, many still flinching, swords drawn.

Hinata raises his staff, pursing his lips as a quick flash causes the illusion to dissipate out of existence, no more of a dragon than a mere fly. He turns back to the soldiers, many of which who have begun to murmur, and then to Iwaizumi, who looks more concerned than grumpy at being woken up.

“We should find Kageyama and get ready either way,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Even if that was cast from a distance, they’re watching.”

Hinata nods, the gravity of the situation returning in full force. They return to the tent and prepare themselves, Iwaizumi suiting up in armor, Hinata making sure that his cape is tied tight around him. Kageyama meets them halfway, a scroll held in his hands as he scans their plan again and again, mentioning how they’ve already caught the cult member who cast the illusion and that their plan shouldn’t be compromised. It’s all business now— the squadrons walk on foot while Kageyama, Iwaizumi, and Hinata take a small caravan towards the caves.

Kageyama gives them a map and two bandanas to tie around their mouths. The cloth is soft and blue, but the moment Hinata picks it up, he can sense magic around it.

“For protection from the fumes,” Kageyama explains as they approach the caves ahead of everyone else, per plan. “Take care, and remember to draw them far enough out of the cave that they won’t retreat.”

Iwaizumi nods, helping Hinata out of the caravan as they approach the caves, tying their bandanas around their nose and mouths. The mouth of the cave is built into an enormous cliff face, one that towers high above their heads. Vines crawl and knot in the jagged rock bottoms, not much else managing to grow beyond the ivy. Hinata squints to look closer at the opening of the cave, in all of its darkness. It hooks over their heads as they head deeper into the cliff, plants still managing to grow in the damp shadows of the rocks. Nothing seems out of the ordinary as they head deeper down, following the main trail until the light behind them is almost nothing. It’s only then that Hinata’s eyes adjust, and he spots the glow.

It’s coming from one of the larger arms, the one that Iwaizumi silently leads them down. They’ve agreed to stay as quiet as they can until they make it to the main cavern, to make it seem less like a decoy and more like an actual ambush. Their way is lit by thousands of shimmering veins and deposits of luminescent stones in the walls, in the ceiling, even on the floor. They glow a gentle blue, almost the same blue as the river or the sky above it. Hinata reaches out to brush his fingers along the veins, watching in silent awe as the glow seemingly penetrates through his skin.

“Moonstone,” Iwaizumi murmurs, answering his unspoken curiosity. “It absorbs the Fog and gives it back off as light as bright as a full moon. It’s still unknown as to why exactly it does, but...” He looks around at the glowing stone with eyes glittering with excitement. “You can’t deny the appeal.”

Hinata looks back to Iwaizumi, breath catching in his throat as the sight of the blue light reflecting off of his green scales. They gleam and shimmer just as, if not more, than the deposits themselves, brightening the cave with small crystalline sparkles. Water drips quietly from the ceilings, and although his mouth his covered in the cloth, Hinata imagines that he smiles.

They continue on like that, in eerie silence, observing the cave for all of its beauty. They stop every so often to mark their way and to make sure they aren’t lost, Iwaizumi consulting the map and what parts of it are filled. As the path leads them lower and lower into the cave, the ceiling rises up, turning the small tunnel into an enormous cavern. Hinata blinks, his eyes taking a second to adjust to the sheer amount of blue light cast from the moonstone crystals in the room. It would be otherworldly, would be spectacular, if not for how his hand brushes against something sticky on the cave wall.

Grimacing, Hinata holds it closer to his face to inspect it. It’s dark and gooey, smelling thickly of iron as he realizes what it is. Jumping away from the wall, he contains a yelp and smears it off onto his trousers.

“Blood?” Iwaizumi asks, surveying the room.

“I— I think so,” he stammers, looking back at the wall. Taking a better look at it, he can see how the blood has left a picture drawn into the moonstone, straight lines converging to create some kind of triangle inside of a circle. “It— it looks like some kind of sigil.”

Hinata’s stomach drops, and he feels out the room for dark magic. To no surprise, the room drowns in it, an unsettling humidity that has him chewing on his lip as he follows Iwaizumi along the outer wall of the cave. They’re supposed to lure the cult members out to this area, the best way being with a gaudy show of bright light form Hinata. Still, something feels off about the room. Maybe it’s the sigils still dripping with fresh blood, or maybe it’s the altar built onto the top of a large based stone.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Iwaizumi murmurs, unsheathing his sword. It fits in, green hilt and silver blade shining just as bright as the white armor covering his chest and the scales peeking up from his neck. Hinata nods, closing his eyes as he begins to create the flashiest show he can think of— a literal burst of white light. The ball swells at the tip of his staff, holding it up as his skin buzzes.

A low rumbling shakes the ground beneath their feet, enough that Hinata’s chest tightens but not enough that either he or Iwaizumi lose their footing. It doesn’t stop, and by the time Hinata’s light has charged as bright as it could be in the tiny ball in front of his staff, the rumbling has begun to fill their ears. Hinata releases the light, allowing it to flood the entire cavern and down the arms, so bright that the moonstone no longer glows. Slowly, as his eyes adjust back to normal, the blue returns, more vibrant than before. Hinata is about to ask Iwaizumi if he hears anything when the rumble turns into an ear splitting scrape, rocks building onto each other to form a goliath of stone, bulky and made of the same moonstone streaked rock as the rest of the cave.

“Golem!” Iwaizumi shouts out, jumping forwards to meet his sword to the creatures fist. The golem stands thirty feet tall with hands that reach for Hinata, one preoccupied with trying to smash Iwaizumi down. It's met with instant resistance, Iwaizumi pushing back hard enough for the entire creature to stumble.

The bonds that hold the golem together are of a dark magic different to the kind that radiated off of the Sea Serpent Leviathan and the living bones— meaning it’s not one of the Dark Mage’s monsters. It lacks the depth, the age, the almost sophisticated binding that the others had had. The magic is fresh, which means whatever or whoever constructed the golem had to be nearby.

Iwaizumi jumps back in front of Hinata, glancing over his shoulder. “Can’t you dispel the magic?”

“Doing that to a creature this size would have me out in like, an instant!” Hinata shouts back, instantly sending off a blast aimed for its shoulder. It blows a chunk of stone off of it, but does little to stop it from swiping its other arm towards them. “Even if the Dark Mage didn’t make it, the bonds are hard to break!”

Iwaizumi steps forwards, pushing Hinata back with one arm, the other swinging his sword in an arch to come down at the golem’s wrist. The force of the hit alone doesn’t slice through the rock, but cracks it deep enough that some kind of pain registers and the golem pulls away. Hinata raises his staff from behind him, firing another blast from his staff, this time square at its chest. Again, it only leaves a dent in the golem’s centre, the creature still surging forwards towards him.

“Get down!” Iwaizumi calls out. Hinata follows his command without question, falling to his knees just as Iwaizumi jumps from behind and over him with his sword over his head. The blade meets the hand that was just reaching for Hinata, slicing through and clattering to the ground in small, glowing chunks. Hinata only has a second to stare in surprise before the handless arm bludgeons down beside him. He rolls out of the way of the second fist slamming down, jumping to his feet and using the closer proximity to the golem to send a strong gust of wind at it, pushing it back several feet.  

The creature isn’t knocked over. It continues to raise its fist for another swipe, the arm long enough to close the distance between it and Hinata despite having been moved. In a moment of panic, Hinata reaches for the moisture in the air and freezes it, throwing up a wall of ice that traps the golem’s fist. There’s a momentary pause where Hinata lets out a heavy breath, the relief broken in the instant the creature throws the rest of its weight down and shatters the ice. That arm, now covered in knife-like shards of ice, grazes Hinata’s shoulder, ripping through his sleeve and his skin and knocking him over. He cries out, biting back at the sharp pain in his arm as he raises his staff once more to stun it just long enough for Iwaizumi to get its attention.

Iwaizumi meets the creature with an elbow to its forearm and a sword swinging down its still intact wrist. A loud _crack_ fills the room as the rock splits, Hinata rolling out his shoulder as he stands. The golem pushes Iwaizumi back, but Iwaizumi keeps his footing, kicking its leg hard enough for it to crack.

Just as Hinata is about to charge up another attack, another rumble shakes through the cavern. His stomach drops and he spins just in time to see a second golem raise, a spitting image of the one that rises up behind Hinata.

“There’s _two_ of them?!” Hinata yells, voice shrill with disbelief, firing a blast straight for the new golem’s fist. It moves it just in time for the blast to hit the cave wall, the entire cavern trembling with the force of Hinata’s magic. The golem moves straight for him, each step shaking the cavern, stone fingers splayed and glowing bright blue as if its only goal is to grab onto him. Hinata spares a glance over his shoulder to see Iwaizumi preoccupied with smashing the legs of the first golem while it uses its handless arms to smash at him. Figuring he has his hands full, he turns back to the one in front of him, racking his mind for anything that could shake a giant, stone monster.

Hinata charges a stronger blast, aiming it for the centre of the golem’s chest. It almost explodes upon impact, but the creature stays intact, even with a hole blown clean through its middle. Hinata’s eyes widen as he takes another step back, panic running cold through his veins, so unlike the hot breath against the cloth around his mouth. He shoots the golem again, this time taking off part of its shoulder, but it still moves, smashing a giant fist down beside Hinata and leaving him to scramble in fear. That same arm swipes for him, but Hinata ducks in time to roll under it, hissing as rocks dig into his fresh wound.

“Hinata!” Iwaizumi shouts a second too late— he’s gotten too close to the first golem, which reaches out its blunt appendage to smash into Hinata’s arm.

And Hinata _screams,_ feeling the bones in his whole arm getting crushed with a sickening crunch that shoots pain all the way into his chest. Out of sheer adrenaline alone, he stands, stumbling backwards as he cradles his now broken arm, Iwaizumi jumping the golem to head towards him. Hinata is only able to stare at the fear in his eyes for a moment before the ground underneath him _vanishes,_ giving way to nothing and nothing and nothing—

_“Shouyou!”_

And Hinata _falls,_  stomach in his throat, too afraid to even scream. He falls, cape whipping around him as blue lights fly past him, his broken arm ripping away from his chest as he smacks against one of the walls of the shoot, falling and falling deeper into the cave. The mask flies off too, falling from his mouth and leaving him with no other choice but to take in strained breaths of toxic air. His heart beats loud in his ears, louder than the sound of his own bones breaking, louder than the smack his body makes when it hits the ground.

—

Hinata doesn’t rise immediately from the fall. When he comes to his senses, the first thing he registers is the overwhelming pain in his arm, a thousand swords pierced through him in an instant. He chokes out a sob, squeezing his eyes shut as fat tears roll down his cheeks, the sheer pain outweighing any of his rational thought, his entire being reeling. Every part of him aches, but nothing compares to his arm, not even the wheeze of his breaths or the pain in his ribs or the throb in his head. He groans, his healthy arm feeling for his staff. He can only reach so far before the burn in his side begins to hurt, and wherever his staff has landed, it’s far away enough that he’ll need to stand.

He never gets the opportunity to, a foot stomping down on his good arm.

“Well, well, well,” a man drawls. “Who do we have here?”

The foot comes off his arm as Hinata’s upper body is ripped up by a fist in his hair, a broken cry leaving his mouth as he bites down onto his bottom lip, _hard._

“The White Mage, in all his glory.” Hinata cracks open an eye as tears stream down his face to see a young man’s face in front of his, sadistic smile spread across his cheeks. “Not so gloriful now, huh?”

“‘Tsumu, you haven’t even introduced yourself yet and you’re already breakin’ his ego,” the man behind the other says, voice strikingly similar, as if an echo of the other’s.

“Oh, my bad,” the man says, letting go of Hinata’s head, letting it smack against the rock beneath them. The man straightens, glowering down at Hinata with the same grin on his face. “Miya Atsumu. And this is my brother, Osamu.”

“The twins,” Hinata whispers, the words strained and broken as they fall past his lip. He tastes iron— is he bleeding from his mouth?  

“Oh, so our reputation precedes us,” Atsumu says, grin widening. “Get up, please. You’re bein’ rude, lookin’ at the floor.”

Hinata grits his teeth, unsure if that’s even possible. With a deep breath that has his chest aching, he lifts his chin, propping his upper body higher with his good arm. He’s met with carbon copy faces and mirror-image bangs, two identical twins looking down at him, distinguishable only by the shade of their hair and the intensity of their expressions. The blond’s grin seems wide enough to hurt, and the brunette simply stares down at him with hollow eyes.

Hinata takes a fleeting look around the room he’s in. It’s much smaller than any of the others, lit not only by the glow of the moonstone but by candles, glowing ominously from behind the twins. His eyes don’t leave them for long, though, before Atsumu lands a kick to his chest that has him falling onto his back, wind knocked out of him with a harsh cough.

“Geez, what’d I say about payin’ attention,” Atsumu sighs, moving to stand over top of him. “White Mage, I’d think you’d have a bit more respect!”

Something inside Hinata snaps, a reminder of his abilities, a primal need to escape. He raises his good arm and conjures a flame that has Atsumu leaning out of the way with wide eyes and Osamu stamping down on it, the pain enough to distract him from attempting magic again.

“What’s this? Tryna be high and mighty and blast us to bits?” Atsumu sneers, kicking Hinata’s side. Hinata tenses, hissing before his foot stomps on his stomach to keep him from rolling over. Hinata’s side throbs with pain, blood and bile burning the back of his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut. He tilts his head and coughs it onto Osamu’s shoe, causing both the twins to make noises of disgust as Hinata hacks.

He can’t continue for long before Atsumu steps one foot on his stomach, kneeling so that his knee presses into his chest. Hinata’s eyes blow wide as he struggles to push him off, but Atsumu soon rests more and more weight onto him, hand reaching for Hinata’s throat. He’s barely able to gasp in one last breath before Atsumu tightens his hold, shortening his breath. His vision sports spots before it begins to spin, mind swaying as he struggles to heave in another breath, chest stabbing in pain as his throat grows tighter and tighter. He feels the smooth texture of Osamu’s shoe on his cheek, wiping his own bloody bile off as the world gets harder and harder to comprehend, muddled and heavy and painful.

Suddenly, Atsumu releases his hold, moving off of him entirely. He grins while Hinata gasps, his good hand reaching to touch the sore skin of his neck. It burns, the humiliation of being denied something so simple-- the right to breathe-- and the deep, shooting pain that throbs as his chest rises and falls. Hinata can hardly cry out, throat too sore to even think about doing anything but breathe until his head is clear and the throbbing is _gone._

“Imagine our surprise, when the _White Mage_ of all people, shows up on our door,” Atsumu says, moving to stand by Hinata’s head. “I like Kageyama ‘nd all, but he’s so _stiff,_  and _you_ are worth much more than a Royal Order dog.”

“For what?” Hinata croaks, attempting to sound less broken than he feels— he fails. Just speaking raises tears to his eyes, the pain in his throat joining the growing list of aches throughout him.

Osamu looks at him plainly, tilting his head. “So we can prove ourselves to the Dark Mage.”

“Duh,” Atsumu taunts, before stamping down onto Hinata’s broken arm.

Hinata jolts up with a shocked cry, knees trying to curl to his chest, body held down by Atsumu’s weight on his arm. He digs his foot into the crushed bone, twisting his foot and eliciting a wail from Hinata **.** He lifts it, eventually, lets Hinata curl over onto his side as if that could be called mercy. He can feel the scrapes left from the golem’s arm sting as bits of dirt and  gravel are rubbed into them.

“I’m debatin’ what he’d be more impressed with,” Atsumu says. “Leavin’ you here to die from our fumes, or havin’ every bone crushed like your arm... What d’ya think, ‘Samu?”

Osamu tips his head, looking down at Hinata, about to open his mouth when the cave begins to shake. Hinata looks up as small bits of moonstone fall down, a deep, rumbling roar reverberating through the walls and floor, causing both of the Miya twins to fall silent for a moment. Hinata panics, trying to figure out what the sound could be as Osamu finally speaks.

“I dunno about you, but havin’ him covered in rubble sounds good,” he says. “Better make sure he won’t be able to use that magic of his to lift his way out, though.”

As if Hinata wasn’t in enough pain, Atsumu laughs. “‘Samu, put him back on his back. And put a rock under his arm, too.”

Hinata attempts to resist as Osamu uses his foot to push him over, body tensing as he’s rolled like a corpse to face them again. Osamu fetches a large stone from one of the corners of the cave, lifting Hinata’s arm with a bruising grip and elevating it with the stone. Hinata has enough time to see a glint of danger in Atsumu’s eye before he glances down at Hinata’s good arm and _jumps._

The snap in his forearm has Hinata’s back lifting off the floor, has him choking on another scream and sobbing as snot runs down from his nose, both arms broken, fresh pain shooting through him. He rolls back over, trying to protect himself from the two as his mind races with ways to run, with possibilities of his death, with the image of Iwaizumi’s face when he finds him, or doesn’t find him, the fleeting sight of broken eyes and a sad smile and _Oikawa_ —

Another swift kick lands in his stomach, has him lurching and coughing blood onto the ground in front of him. Hinata can’t even open his eyes to see who did it, can’t make out the words that they say as their footsteps grow quieter, and the candles snuff out. For the first time in his life, he’s truly and utterly alone.

—

The Miya twins are nothing if not cunning, if not wanting to stay alive more than anything else _._ Atsumu and his brother scramble to the main cavern to find their escape, not caring for any of the other cult members who may still be in the depths of the caves— after all, it’s every man for himself inside the cult. As they round a corner, they’re met with another roar and the ground shaking under their feet. He’s not one for karma, but he _is_ one for intuition, and every part of him is screaming to run. However, he’s also stubborn, and neither of them are the type to run away.

Unfortunately, the only direction there is to run is straight ahead, towards the man with half broken armor, green scales, and a sword held at the ready, standing on two mounds of stone both he and his brother recognize as their golems.

Iwaizumi jumps down to stand level with them and stalks forwards, yellow eyes animalistic, teeth sharp and barred towards the two of them. He’s just a tad shorter, but they both hold their ground as his sword swipes past Osamu’s cheek, barley slitting the skin.

“Where. Is. He,” Iwaizumi practically _snarls,_ all of those razor sharp canines on display, sword pointed at the two. It glints in the blue-green light of the moonstone, and so do the scales that coat him.

Atsumu grins, because he _knows_ who Iwaizumi is talking about. “He’s in the depths of this cave, soon to be another rottin’ corpse for the Dark Mage to find,” he taunts, confident that the knight won't break through his brother’s shield. “You’re too late to save him now. He’s too broken to even try to escape, anyway.”

Iwaizumi snaps, _snaps,_ almost hissing as Atsumu cackles. “What, you thought we’d actually let him go? You thought _we’d_ have mercy?”

“You can’t be that naive,” Osamu chides, looking down at the sword trained towards him as if it were nothing but an empty threat.

“He was as good as dead when we were through with him,” Atsumu adds. “There’s hardly a White Mage to...”

He trails off, eyes widening as terror grips him and his brother as they freeze in place. The two of them watch as steam starts to rise off of Iwaizumi’s scales, filling the room. They look up, and up, and up…

And then—

—

Hinata hears a lot in the time where he’s left for dead, bleeding out onto the cool, stone floor. He hears roars that shake the cave, he hears a whistle and shouts that echo all the way down to him, he hears his heartbeat, hears the memory of his mother saying _I love you,_ and his own promise to Natsu to come back. He hears a steady drip of water, not unlike the rush of the stream where he first saved her, not unlike the sound accompanying two river towns with families and soft smiles. It drones quietly in the background, a much nicer sound than the wheeze of Hinata’s breath.

That’s gotten harder now— breathing. Every inhale is like breathing through a sheet, thick and heavy. He can taste the fumes now and they’re almost sweet, pairing nicely with the blood pooling at his lip. His head is clouded with what he doesn’t doubt is a concussion, and every time he tells his body to _move,_ to crawl, he’s met only with shooting pain and a deeper ache than before.

He wonders, as he hears echoes like music in the chambers above him, how Oikawa will react to his death. He can’t be happy— Hinata hasn’t seen anything close to happy on his face before. Not in dreams, nor in life, has Oikawa ever _genuinely_ smiled. Hinata wants to think that his death would end the curse, that dying alone would stop someone else from being bestowed with the weight of the world on their shoulders. There’d be people to fight Oikawa’s creatures, wouldn’t there? There will always be another him.

The water droplets sound more like footsteps now, heavy, weighted. Hinata opens his mouth a little wider so that he can spit up another clot of blood without keeling over, feels the thick glob slip over his lips and press against his cheeks.

 _What a way to go,_ Hinata thinks.

There’s pressure on his neck now— he curls up, wincing. It’s too close to the gash in his shoulder for him to be comfortable, but even the action of moving has him sobbing again, tears mixing with the snot and the blood pooling by his face.

“Hinata,” a low voice says, panicked and rushed. It’s shaking— why is it shaking? “Hinata, can you hear me?”

Hinata contemplates just pretending to be asleep, like he would when he didn’t want to do his chores. If he tries hard enough, he could pretend he was in Torino, that this warm, gentle voice is his mother’s and that she wants him to pump water from the well. _I can’t pump water right now,_ he thinks. _My arms are broken._

“H-Hinata— Hinata _please,”_ the voice rasps, _pleads,_ and then those arms are curling underneath him and Hinata cries out, falling into the hold of the kind voice. “Hinata, it’s me— it’s H— it’s Iwaizumi—”

_Iwaizumi._

“I-Iwa—” Hinata croaks. What’s he doing here, while Hinata’s dying? Keeping him company?

“Shh, it’s gonna be fine,” Iwaizumi says, and Hinata isn’t on the floor anymore, head pressed into the warmth of Iwaizumi’s chest. He’s warm, much warmer than the floor of the cave, almost burning Hinata’s skin. “You— you’re gonna live, okay?”

Part of Hinata thinks, _this would be a nice way to die._

A bigger part of him coughs, blood splattering the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt. “O—oh—kay.”

Hinata can’t remember anything after that.

—

Hinata doesn’t die. Not today.

He wakes up with no part of him not aching, with sunlight burning through his eyelids and confusion in his brain. The brightness makes him groan softly, twisting his head to the side to avoid the light. He can’t really move much of anything, but he can crack open his eyes, slowly, like peeking through the shutters, enough to see Iwaizumi’s eyes staring dead into his. Hinata takes a moment just to study him, because he doesn't think words are possible with coarseness of his throat. He’s mostly skin now, but a few scales are stuck to his cheek as if he’s forgotten to fully change back. Part of his shoulder plate is gone and his hair is in every direction, but what strikes Hinata about Iwaizumi’s appearance is his eyes— wide, in the sockets and in the pupils. Soft, quick breaths fall from his parted lips, and his brows are knit so close together Hinata thinks they might become one.

He offers him a smile, or tries, pulls at the corners of his mouth until Iwaizumi inhales, deep, full, until Hinata notices something wet gleam at the side of his nose. They’re close, really close, so close Hinata’s half worried Iwaizumi will taste the blood he still feels in his mouth. Hinata wonders if blood can be evaporated in the air. He also wonders if he’s delirious. Tears prick his eyes and slip down his cheeks to stain the sheets he lies on, and Iwaizumi smiles, incredibly pained and incredibly happy at the same time, holding a kind of weight Hinata can’t understand.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, soft as cotton. His hand goes to rest next to Hinata’s cheek, fingertips just brushing at his tears. “You did it.”

Hinata swallows in an attempt to wet his throat, and coughs, the action sending a wave of pain through his body. “D-did what?”

“Survived,” Iwaizumi whispers. His fingertips are barely touching Hinata’s undereyes, but the skin there tingles, the best sensation Hinata has ever felt, stomach fluttering as another tear rolls down Iwaizumi’s cheek.

“Th—the— tw—twins,” Hinata croaks. Iwaizumi understands, fingertips still tracing his cheek as he answers.

“In custody with the rest of the cult. You’re safe here,” Iwaizumi tells him. There’s a certain kind of roughness to his voice that Hinata would take to mean he had spent the time between him falling asleep and waking crying it hoarse if he could think straight. Now, all he can focus on is Iwaizumi, the fingers on his cheek, and the ache throbbing, burning inside of him.

The tears running from Hinata’s eyes multiply, his expression contorting into one of anguish. “I—I thought—” he chokes out. “I—I thought I— I was gonna—”

“You’re here, Hinata,” Iwaizumi murmurs, voice a lullaby that soothes the spasms in Hinata’s lungs. “You’re alive.”

His whole hand moves to cup Hinata’s cheek, thumb drawing circles over his cheekbone. Hinata nods, small, blinking furiously as tears threaten to obscure his view of Iwaizumi and his warm eyes. Sobs wrack through his body, a low pain shooting through his chest every time he coughs. Iwaizumi stays, a calming presence in the storm that rages through Hinata’s mind. Hinata’s hand twitches by his side, wanting to cover his mouth or wipe his eyes or something, but instead Iwaizumi takes it in his, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his palm.

He hums, a distraction, mixing in with Hinata’s sobs to create a solemn melody. But Iwaizumi is here, and Hinata is here, and Hinata will live to see another day. He will live to see the sun rise and fall, will live to laugh and smile and live to feel something other than this ache. For now, he lies with Iwaizumi staring into his eyes and humming low like the cicadas in the summer, and waits out the rest of the storm.

Hinata falls back asleep like that, to Iwaizumi’s drone and a quiet whisper of _may you find crystal in your rest._

—

Two broken arms, left one a clean break, the right completely crushed, paired with a minor concussion that leaves his head throbbing, two broken ribs, and internal bleeding to top it all off. The healers set his bones and give him enchanted salves and potions to take for his crushed arm, warning that it may take up to a week to return to perfect health. There’s an eyedropper and a small bottle of an alchemists brewed painkiller, and a prescription of minor enchantments and self heals in four day’s time. Hinata tries to imagine healing without the aid of magic and cringes at the thought, content with his bed rest and funny tasting solutions for now.

Iwaizumi doesn’t leave his side while he’s confined to his bed. He’s there, working away and carving the tooth from Koneko, or looking pensively out the tent, towards him, or simply _sleeping._  He’s there when Kageyama bursts in and thanks them over and over, body turned towards Iwaizumi but words praising Hinata just as much as him.

“You got hurt, but you did a great service,” Kageyama says, still not meeting his eyes. “Th—ank you.”

Something tells Hinata Kageyama isn’t the type for thanking. He smiles either way and watches him go, content that what he had done for the Royal Order outweighed the turmoil he sent them through rescuing him.

Hinata doesn’t like to think about that, but he does either way. In the time where he isn’t napping or caught up in gentle, quiet conversation with Iwaizumi, he’s left to think and think and think. He’s confined to bed rest for another whole day before he’s left tapping his feet against the bed frame, _itching_ to go somewhere new. All of that is combined with a deep ache in his chest— different from the sparks of physical pain. This one roots itself into his ribs and breaths with him, throbs like a second heart. Hinata thinks he should understand it by now, but he doesn’t, feigns naivety for a moment longer and pretends it’s just the bruise of Atsumu’s foot fading from his skin.

Every time he drifts into sleep, he feels himself fall, feels weightless the same way he did and tenses as if expecting to hit solid ground. The bed never leaves him, and neither does Iwaizumi, but Hinata hears his own cries in his sleep and feels phantom pain in his arms, even as they’re numbed with the potions. Nothing haunts him more than the smiles, than twin teeth straight like headstones in a cemetery and eyes glinting with malice unrivaled to anything Hinata has ever seen.

Nothing haunts him more than the memory of death brushing his lips and leaving him to live on.

By sunset Hinata has had enough. His chest aches and the potions are keeping him from feeling too much of the burn of bones healing and reshaping, and the restlessness inside of him has yet to be dampened. Iwaizumi seems to understand— understand he needs time alone, needs time to think, needs a moment to walk on his own two legs without being hounded or gawked at. Hinata slips out the tent and walks away from the settlement, out of where the guards’ watchtowers are. A shift must be changing, because they’re noticeably empty, a fact Hinata takes solace in as he brushes his fingers to the rough bark of the trees.

The ache in his chest has yet to vanish, still tight, still ebbing. Hinata looks over his shoulder, as if he expects someone to be there. It’s a stupid thought, but one he indulges himself in, okay with seeming silly when there’s no one around. He can hide in his own mind and wish what he may, can choke down the images of the Miya twins and replace them with the first face that comes to mind—

Oikawa.

His chest swells at just the thought of him, and Hinata has half the nerve to feel embarrassed at the same time that a chill traces down his spine. He feels too bare, too exposed without his cape around him. The sensation doesn’t disappear, doesn’t fade, and Hinata finds himself backing up against the trunk of a tree as he turns his head, still looking, still expecting something— or rather, someone.

He’s about to head back when the air drops cold enough for his breath to become candy clouds at his nose, every hair raising on the back of his neck. Hinata holds his breath and looks right forwards, watching as purple smoke forms from nowhere, rising from the ground up. A cape soon breaks through the fog, ragged and threadbare, brushing the stones as the fog clears. Even before he can see his face, Hinata _knows_ who it’ll be.

Oikawa stands mere feet away from Hinata when the smoke clears, close enough that Hinata prays he can’t hear the soft sigh that slips through his lips at the sight. His face falls, however, the moment he looks closer, body tensing as he catches sight of the aura surrounding Oikawa, snapping like coals in a fire, purple deep and threatening to darken. The grip on his staff is white knuckled, as if he’s holding himself back from doing something, and Hinata suddenly wishes he weren’t so defenseless, wishes his staff was at his side and not lying on his bed right now.

 _He won’t hurt me,_ Hinata thinks, and he doesn’t understand how the voice in his head is so sure when Oikawa’s eyes climb his body, eating him alive. They turn to black at the same time Hinata begins to wonder if he really is dangerous, if his prior hesitance to killing him was all a lie. When the fear hits him, Oikawa’s eyes rip away to glance back at the camp.

“What are you doing here?” Hinata squeaks, rocking back and forth. “The Royal Order—”

“I’m going to _murder_ them,” Oikawa says, voice low and and loathing. Hinata’s blood runs cold as the purple turns truly black, inky and swirling higher and higher around him. His heart stops, a fleeting image of Iwaizumi coming to his mind as he takes a step forwards, his head swirling with fear in that moment.

“Y-you’re not killing anyone!” Hinata shouts, voice still hoarse. He winces at his own volume as Oikawa turns back to him, eyes flickering back to brown for a breath as he catches Hinata’s gaze.

“They hurt you,” Oikawa says, the darkness around him whipping his cape like a second wind. “They _tortured you,_ almost _killed_ you— where are they?”

Oikawa takes a step forwards as Hinata shakes his head, confused, head swarming as he comes to realize what Oikawa means. The aura licks at his skin and brings with it a kind of cold incomparable to anything Hinata has experienced. He swallows the knot in his throat and presses it down alongside the ache in his chest and stares up at Oikawa’s face.

“The— the twins? They’re captured—”

Oikawa doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, snarling as he moves past Hinata towards the camp, staff already outstretched. This expression, this _anger_ is new, foreign to his features and unsuiting to how his face looks to be crafted from porcelain. He wants to bathe in the light that’s reflected off of his face, but every inch of him is screaming and worry pushes pins into his gut as he claws for ideas to hold him back. Chest tight, he reaches one bandaged and splinted arm out, fingers limp but eyes pleading to his silhouette amongst the trees.

“Wait!” Hinata yelps, and suddenly he’s not scared about being found anymore— he’s afraid of Oikawa consuming the forest in livid flame.

Oikawa spins on his heal, eyes black to the core as he growls. “Tell me why should I wait. They deserve this—”

Hinata stumbles towards him, throat knotted, emotions swelled to burst. “You don’t have to kill anyone! They’re captured— they’re gonna be taken away and won’t hurt anyone else!”

Oikawa scoffs, turning back towards the camp and ignoring Hinata’s words. Hinata wracks his mind for something, _anything_ to say, to do, to hold him back without hands or magic and only his words. Never before has he seen the wrath of the Dark Mage, never has he ever witnessed his hell fire or fury. He wants nothing more than for the trees to swallow them whole and hold Oikawa back from breaking, hold himself back from leaking tears, hold him with arms that aren’t broken in a world where none of this ever happened.

“Oikawa,” Hinata cries, _"please—"_

Oikawa stops in his tracks, suddenly frozen in place. His body swivels to face Hinata, the anger gone from his expression and replaced with complete shock as all of the darkness vanishes, eyes broken, wide and disbelieving. Lips part and an empty breath passes through, the bottom of his staff digging into the ground as he leans over it, eyes fixed onto Hinata’s.

“What did you say?” he whispers, slowly, and confusion hits Hinata because he isn’t even angry anymore. The vice grip on his staff is for a different reason now, the only thing tethering him as he slowly turns the rest of his body and steps forwards. Hinata tilts his head and prays that the weight in the back of his mind is from the fear of speaking out of turn and not his headache building back up in full force. He gulps as Oikawa tentatively takes another step forwards, cape dragging behind him as he waits in delicate silence for Hinata to speak.

“Oikawa,” Hinata finally says, hands shaking beneath their bandages. “You— your name.”

Oikawa blinks, nose wrinkling as he purses his lips and tilts his head, leaning over his staff. “My name… How— how do you know...?” Every word is pained, not louder than the whisper of a wind brushing through their hair. Hinata wonders why someone of his height, of his stature, who commands the darkness around him to bend and holds enough power to destroy them both in an instant, looks so small.

“Iwaizumi,” Hinata answers. It’s a confession that he assumes Oikawa would’ve already figured out, but his reaction is to exhale all of the air remaining in his lungs and to cast his eyes down, near scared, near ashamed.

“Oikawa is dead,” he tells him, voice inked with a mournful finality, words nearly spat out onto the uneven ground. “I’m nothing more than the Dark Mage now.”

“But—”

“But what?” Oikawa asks. The aura simmers behind him as he sighs, fixing Hinata with a heavy gaze. “You know nothing of me, and I know nothing of you.”

 _But I want to,_ Hinata thinks.

“But I _want_ to,” he says.

Oikawa steps back, shaking his head, eyes pressed closed and staff tucked close to his body. “I—” He’s cut off with a cough, one that shakes his rib cage and spares him from answering, physical pain taking the brunt of the emotions that flicker across his face. The anger never left— it lies a trigger in the hand around his staff, in the tremor of his arms— but now it mixes with a certain kind of confusion that is too much like sadness for Hinata to handle. His hand itches to move, to reach out— Oikawa spots the movement from the broken limb and softens, biting his lip as he continues backing away.

“If they hurt you again,” he says, slow, warning. “They will never know mercy.”

Hinata wants to tell him they won’t, wants to tell him that his bones will mend, wants to say a thousand words in one second and leave the bruise behind. He never gets the chance, because smoke curls at Oikawa’s feet and he turns his face away, eyes masked by his hat, Hinata too late to see his expression as he vanishes.

—

Iwaizumi suggests leaving when he returns, half an hour later than expected, tear tracks and all.

“Are you alright?” Iwaizumi asks, forehead wrinkles as he surges forwards, resting a hand atop Hinata’s shoulder.

Hinata blinks away the lingering tears, nodding and shaking his head all at once. “It— it just _hurts,"_  he whimpers. “It _aches._  He— he— he—”

Iwaizumi shushes softly, stepping closer to walk Hinata somewhere more private, safer. His touch is a thousand things at once— is comfort, is pain, is confusion and familiarity Hinata can’t understand. They step into their tent, Iwaizumi helping Hinata sit down, resting beside him until he can catch his breath, sure that his lungs are his own and his throat is clear. Iwaizumi knows— somehow, he always _knows—_  rubs Hinata’s back and speaks softly.

“There’s a town— Kyuuchi— it isn’t far from here,” Iwaizumi tells him. Concern laces his tone in a way that is suspicious of him knowing something Hinata doesn’t, but he pushes that worry away and listens to him speak, bag still packed from when they arrived. “We can stay there while you recover.”

“Are you sure?” Hinata asks, watching him tuck his dagger into cloth and set it in its holster. “I— you have a duty to do.”

“And that duty is to stay alongside you and aide you in your journey,” Iwaizumi counters. He’s facing him now, softening enough that his words don’t sound as rough as they seem. “Besides, we need to plan our next move. I’m sure doing so in a warm bed is preferable when your bones are sewing back together.”

Hinata smiles at his humor, agreeing despite the guilt stewing in his stomach. Moonstone Cave has etched itself onto his eyelids, has crept into his dreams and kept him awake while his body begged for sleep. Even with a part of him seeking redemption, seeking to _do something,_ he knows staying here will only bring pained healing and nightmares instead of dreams. When Hinata accepts his idea, Iwaizumi sighs, as if relieved Hinata has chosen to go along with it.

Hinata can’t help but feel broken, feel useless. Though there are bodies all around him people bustling and sending him smiles and practically cheering his name, the feeling of being so terribly _alone_ clings to him, so much more that loneliness. Hinata’s magic is a careful buzz under his skin and yet when his blood and breath and mind were leaving him, it wasn’t enough— _he_ wasn’t enough. He’s haunted by twin smiles and a shiver of something so twisted he can only call it evil.

They leave that night in a carriage provided by the Order, Hinata sleeping across the seat and Iwaizumi humming to a tune with words forgotten. Oikawa meets him in his dreams that night, but they’re only dreams, only figments of his imagination replying fury turned cold, turned fearful. His mind tries to create happiness on that face, but it vanishes before he can see it. Ashes to ashes, dust like clouds of smoke— a name lost to time and something bigger than two boys and the forest around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings include: lowkey torture, choking, breaking of bones, coughing blood, graphic violence
> 
> questions, comments, theories? we'd love to hear them!
> 
> next chapter comes out april 22nd


	9. convalescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUP GUYS SORRY THIS IS A WEEK LATE this arc is super self indulgent so i hope you enjoy it as much as we did writing it! or even moreso!
> 
> —
> 
> HEY YALL this chapter is a lot of blood sweat and tears and im so sorry its late! with all that happened we just wanted to make sure it was the best it could be and you got the best content you deserved!!!! with that, i hope you enjoy an arc that had me and mooks oh so tempted to change the entire plot of the story. multiple times.

Oikawa wakes to darkness. It’s familiar, but not comforting— expected, though. He always faints after teleporting, ends up falling into sleep for a day where the grip of his destiny can’t strangle him. This time he wakes only a foot from his bed. He faintly remembers the view of the room, remembers stumbling with a heavy head, remembers his vision going dark and his mind blacking out. Oikawa cracks his shoulders before curling around his knees, forehead pressed to his legs. His robes scratch at his skin, holding a kind of clamminess that tells they need to be washed. He should change, Oikawa knows this, but makes no move to get off the floor. An ache perpetuates deep from within his bones, deep within his chest, pins him down against the stone floor of his tower with darkness curling around him.

Sometimes, he plays a game of ignoring it, just to see how long he’ll last. No matter when he starts, he always falls back into the magic, into the blackness that burns every shadow. It just takes him time to remember he’s never left. Ashen fingers brush cheeks— his fingers, his cheeks. Oikawa thinks: _I will not think of him today_ while imagining the White Mage’s smile and laugh and remembering the contortions of pain on his face when his arm breaks. It makes his chest burn, flames lighting the fury he has yet to bury leaving him to push the feelings, the memories, the dreams back before they take him over. He reaches for his staff and stands.

The tower is cold, but so is this part of Seishun. Oikawa pulls the buttons of his shirt open and pushes his cape from his shoulders as he makes his way to the closet, walking through the spiral halls this tower was built from. The air kisses his skin and leaves goosebumps instead of marks and Oikawa relishes the small luxury of blowing the dust from the formal wear left behind in the tower he calls home. The tailcoat is lined with some kind of fur and brushes the ground when he walks, and his shirts ruffles have long since been torn and shredded. He could mend them, maybe. He has the time, but no part of him was crafted for anything akin to creation. No part of him was fashioned to breathe life.

The weight of the world knits itself into Oikawa’s shoulders today. He can feel his future writing and rewriting itself anew every time he moves, can feel the strain on his heart from just beating. On days like today, his staff becomes less of a weapon and more of a cane, becomes his crutch as he climbs each crumbling cobblestone step to the room with the window and the large bookshelf, where Seishun unravels before him and magic can bloom like ivy to strangle the roses.

He sees the cedar and the pine and the fir, sees the line of smoke and mist, sees creatures rising as wisps from the ground in flames spoiled with ink that will never wash away. Oikawa turns his head as if ignorance is possible when a foreign part of him swells in pride. People die by the puppets on his strings and Oikawa is left with the bows knotted around his fingers.

His ball of crystal lies opaque on the ground where he left it, when it last slipped from his hands and rolled away. Oikawa's fingers twitch to pick it up, but he holds himself back. There’s no part of him that is ready to see the White Mage again, not through the looking glass. The last time he looked into a life that wasn’t his, he watched the fragments of bone be crushed under the White Mage’s flesh by the boot of someone who thought of _him_ as a god. Oikawa’s hands have been stained too many times with the blood of people he will never meet to be considered as godly, as anything deserving of worship or love. Yet, the crystal ball lies so close to him, and his body moves without his own accord just for the one, small, undeserving luxury of seeing the White Mage’s face again. He kneels on the cold stone floor and lifts the ball close to his face, peering into the darkness, so consuming he can’t even see his own reflection. With a motion practiced a thousand times over, he swipes his fingers across the surface, clears a throat used more in the last few days than it has for years to say:

“Show me the White Mage.”

The crystal begins to change, darkness swirling with wisps of smoke until the black crystal has cleared enough to be considered glass. Oikawa steels himself against the fire burning deep inside of him and looks deeper into the crystal, where, on the side, the White Mage lies across the back of a carriage.

He’s safe. Something akin to relief washes over Oikawa. He’s _safe._

But he’s in pain— evident in how his face contorts in his sleep, in how, both arms, bandaged and splinted, are twitching unnaturally. Oikawa thumbs the crease in his brows and the wrinkles in his forehead as if he could smooth them out from this far away. Instead, silent tears slip down cheeks too pale to be natural, for him to be well. There’s a bruise forming on his chin, purple and brown and deep, and Oikawa already knows where it’s from. The memory of watching his face be slammed into the ground arises, and so does the aura behind him, swirling with tendrils of inky black. They curl around his throat as his chest throbs, forced down until he’s cradling the crystal ball, until his heart is lodged in his throat.

Something deep and inexplicable ties him to the White Mage, something more than just destiny and more than just a human desire of closeness. He knew— he knew this ache, this second heartbeat, this emotion, wasn’t his own, knew it wasn’t something he was born into, but rather something that latched onto him the moment he took his first breaths in this world. When he looks at the White Mage, though, it feels real. It doesn’t feel like the twisted desires he finds in the crooks of his mind late at night, doesn’t feel like the darkness becoming his own. It feels… gentle. It feels… human.

But Oikawa has long since considered himself to be a person like anyone else. He gave up his humanity the day the world burned.

The crystal slips from his hands, returning to black, and the aura around him leaves his throat bare once more. As Oikawa heaves a breath into lungs not his own, he thinks, _I am truly a monster._

—

Rest only comes easy because there’s nothing else to do in pain. Hinata lays across the back of the carriage and keeps his arms steady on the seat, drinks his potions and serums just as told, tries to remember to speak to Iwaizumi through the window to the driving seat. The potions haven’t done much for the bruising— his ribs are splotchy with deep, purple marks, and Hinata doesn’t doubt that under the bandages of his arm, it’s all but blue. His stomach has faded to a hideous shade of yellow and brown, and if it were any other circumstance, Hinata would spend the ride poking at it, just watching. But every ache from a prod is a reminder of the foot to his gut or the grind of a heel into his arm. When Hinata shuts his eyes, he braces himself for a hit that won’t come. When he wakes up from a nap, he’s curled as if to cower away. The twins haunt him in the smallest of ways, in slight noises and body pangs and trying to sit up without puking. Hinata’s left to drift in and out of nightmares that make half as much sense as his own thoughts, waking hours comprised of careful breathing and watching the world go by.

Maybe rest doesn’t come easy. Maybe he’ll always be replaying heinous smiles and blood on his lips.

Hinata’s holding himself back from falling asleep again when the carriage slows, the soft noise of hooves against stone pattering like rain in the background. Iwaizumi knocks lightly on the side of the carriage, turning so that he can stick his head through the window to look Hinata’s way.

“We’re here now,” Iwaizumi says, voice warm and a welcome comfort to Hinata’s frazzled mind. “How are you doing?”

Hinata tries to shrug and winces, pain shooting down his right arm. “Been— been better, but okay.”

Iwaizumi nods, looking back to the road to steer them around a corner. “I’m going to drop you off at a tavern— you don’t need to take anything with you. I just figured it’ll be best for you to get settled as soon as you can,” he tells him. “Is that okay?”

Hinata nods, scooting towards the window to stare at the cobblestone buildings of Kyuuchi. Some of the vegetation looks a little worse for wear, more yellow than green and wilting in on itself. The weather isn’t especially cold, but a brisk wind cuts through the air and Hinata is sure that fall will creep up on them if they aren’t careful. “Do you have money so I can pay for a room?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it after,” Iwaizumi replies. “Just ask for Hanamaki and Matsukawa and say you’re here with Iwaizumi.”

“That’s it?” Hinata asks.

“Hopefully,” Iwaizumi says, voice a little gruffer than before. “They’re… well, they’ve got a kind of _personality,_ I guess. Just don’t let them push you around.”

He pulls on the reins, stopping the carriage in front of a building with the shutters drawn closed. Its wooden sign pinned above the double doors reads _The Chinomiya Inn and Tavern,_ painted a few different colours Hinata can’t quite make out in the dim twilight hour. Iwaizumi hops out and pulls open the door for Hinata, an arm around his waist to help him make the jump from the carriage to the ground without stumbling. Hinata smiles, appreciating the gesture, and hurries inside, pushing open the door with his good shoulder.

It’s quiet inside of the tavern, lit dimly by a few candles along the walls. Hinata takes a tentative step forward, looking around the corners and the empty tables for any sign of another person. It’s cozy inside, if not spooky enough to make Hinata uneasy. The wooden tables and chairs are dark and lacquered to shine. Pictures are plastered in matching brown frames along the walls. The floor hardly creaks as Hinata takes a step forwards, just about to call out and see if anyone is around when when someone shouts from another room.

“We’ll be there in just a moment!” they yell, muffled through the walls. Hinata hears double footsteps above him, and turns his head towards the staircase behind the bar. It only takes a moment for two people to emerge, hands gracing the railing and charming smiles spreading across their faces. They’re more like smirks, if anything, but Hinata doesn’t feel suspicious in the least. His shoulders relax as he remembers what Iwaizumi told him— if Iwaizumi trusts them, why shouldn’t he?

“I— um— I’m looking for Hanamaki and Matsukawa?” Hinata stammers as the two step forwards. The one with the dark hair side-eyes his partner before nodding, the other grinning and taking a small bow.

“That'd be us,” he tells him. “I’m Hanamaki, and he’s Matsukawa. What brings a pretty face like yours to our corner of the world?”

Hinata’s face immediately burns up as he flicks his eyes back over to Matsukawa, intimidated by the heavy gaze of Hanamaki. He’s only greeted with worse, Matsukawa’s face passive but eyes trained directly on him. “I’m— I’m here with Iwaizumi. He— we’re booking a room—”

“Oh, we haven’t heard that name in a while!” Hanamaki exclaims, face lighting up. He moves closer, hand brushing the small of Hinata’s back. It’s cool, but instead of causing Hinata to jump away, he finds himself melting into it, mind fuzzy and stuffed with cotton. “Come, sit down, you must’ve traveled a long way.”

Matsukawa is already sat on a small loveseat, one arm outstretched to help Hinata down to sit beside him. “You should rest,” he purrs, slender fingertips ghosting beside Hinata’s ear as he tucks a piece of hair away from his face. “Just let us take care of you.”

Hinata gulps, nodding as Hanamaki pressed up against his other side. He turns his cheek just in time for a hand to graze the bottom of his chin, gentle as not to prod at the yellowing bruise. “You seem like you need somebody to take care of you,” Hanamaki reiterates in a whisper, tongue darting out to lick his lips as his grin widens. Hinata’s eyes drift to his mouth, to the pearly white teeth and their sharp points. _That’s odd,_ he thinks, before breath fans out across the other side of his neck, causing his breath to hitch.

“Your heart is racing,” Matsukawa murmurs. “Are you nervous?”

Hinata shakes his head, now aware of how his pulse throbs against his neck, the shortness of his breath, the buzz travelling through his veins. “No,” he responds, voice airy and soft as Hanamaki holds his gaze with darkening eyes.

Matsukawa rests one hand on his thigh, humming low. It sends a tremor through Hinata, up his spine, hitching his breath as his mouth grows closer to his ear. “You don’t need to be,” Matsukawa says, lips grazing his earlobe as he speaks. “You can let us do all of the work.”

On his other side, Hanamaki presses his cheek to Hinata’s neck, resting there, feeling Hinata’s pulse thump against his skin. It only quickens as Matsukawa moves his mouth lower, to rest near the column of Hinata’s throat, eyes lidded and teeth already grazing his skin. Hinata melts into the cushions of the couch and their arms, mind floating as their ministrations swell into something more and more and more until—

Until the door of the tavern is burst open, knocked clean off its hinges and slammed into the wall before it falls to the floor. Hinata is too consumed to jump, but does blink in surprise, nearly whining when Hanamaki moves away from his neck to look up at the door.

“Iwaizumi! You broke the door! What the fuck, that was new!” Hanamaki shouts, voice miffed.

 _That_ breaks the spell, Hinata coming to his senses and realizing _just_ how close the two bodies are pressed to him, how Matsukawa has yet to move from his position against his neck. His heart rate picks up again, body tensing while Hanamaki continues.

“Geez, you never learned your own strength, did you?” he jests, half grinning as he crosses his arms and shakes his head.

Iwaizumi is having none of it, practically _steaming_ as he steps forwards, eyes not leaving them. “Stop trying to seduce him,” he grumbles, a near growl. “I’m _right_ here.”

“We weren’t seducing him!” Hanamaki huffs, indignant. Hinata looks over just in time to see a flash of sharpened canines— fangs— protruding from his gums. His eyes widen, mouth falling open in shock as Matsukawa pulls away to look over at Hanamaki.

“Wait, we weren’t?” he asks, tilting his head. “I was.”

Hinata considers dying, right then and there, blush deepening and creeping all the way up his neck to cover his face. Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly as he glances back over at the door. “Can you give him some space, at the very least? You’re going to hurt him.”

Hanamaki pouts, pushing himself out of the seat and pulling Matsukawa up with him. “It wasn’t going to _really_ hurt.”

“It only hurts at the beginning,” Matsukawa says, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “Then it feels _really_ good.”

“W—what wasn’t going to hurt?” Hinata stammers, pushing himself into the corner of the couch.

“Drinking your blood,” Hanamaki says, at the same time that Matsukawa’s grin widens.

“Sex,” he says instead, causing Iwaizumi to stomp over and smack them both upside the head.

Hinata isn’t sure which to be more appalled at, choosing the former solely because his heart has yet to return to a normal pace and he doesn’t feel like testing its limits so soon. “Drink my _what?”_ he yelps, looking nervously over to Iwaizumi.

“They’re vampires,” he explains, tone exasperated. “I really should’ve warned you— I’m sorry.”

“We would’ve let you know,” Hanamaki tells him, rubbing the back of his head. “Eventually. Before we drank your blood.”

“I doubt it,” Iwaizumi mutters, pushing past them to stand next to Hinata.

“But we didn’t! No harm, no foul,” Hanamaki concludes, clapping his hands. “Right, babe?”

Matsukawa hums, leaning into Hanamaki’s side. “Of course,” he says. “Nice to see you again, Iwaizumi. You haven’t changed at all.”

“And neither have you two, apparently,” Iwaizumi responds, shaking his head. He glances down at Hinata on the couch and offers him an apologetic smile that Hinata reciprocates. He’s still reeling from the revelation that he was a few moments away from either being drained of blood or something else entirely, but Iwaizumi remains an anchor beside him, a solid presence and assurance that nothing will go awry.

“Okay then, let’s get you a room,” Hanamaki says, strolling behind the bar to unlock a cabinet filled with keys. “I’m guessing a single room? We’ve got king-sized beds, if you’re into that.”

Hinata chokes on his spit while Iwaizumi tenses. “I— do you have anything with two beds?” Iwaizumi asks, clearing his throat. Matsukawa raises his brows at the two of them, and Hanamaki nods, rustling the keys as he pulls one from the many there.

“Business hasn’t exactly been booming,” he tells him, tossing the keys to Iwaizumi. “If you really wanted, you could have separate ones.”

Hinata shakes his head, aware of how his blush has yet to die down. “It’s, um, probably easier for us to room together,” he stammers, looking down at his bandaged arms. They’re beginning to ache again, and he knows that he should probably take another few drops of the serum to stop the pain and hope that he can get some rest overnight.

“Do you want to head to sleep now?” Iwaizumi asks him, as if he could read Hinata’s intentions straight off of his face. “I can grab the bags and help you get settled, if you want.”

Hinata nods, yawning slightly as Iwaizumi slips a hand around his back to help him off the couch. Hinata isn’t sure if he needed it, but is thankful either way, arms hardly jostled by the movement. Iwaizumi hoists their bags on his arms, shooting Hanamaki and Matsukawa a nod before following behind him upstairs, motioning with his head to their room at the end of the hall. He sets down the bags and unlocks the door, holding it open for Hinata to enter through. The floor is covered by a thick shag rug that muffles Hinata’s footsteps as he toes off his shoes and pads over to the bed next to the window. Iwaizumi busies himself with setting Hinata’s potions and serums on the bedside table, using one of the complimentary glasses to pour it out.

It’s strangely intimate, being fed. Iwaizumi does it wordlessly, holds the glass to his lips and tilts it so that Hinata can taste the sour liquid on his tongue and swallow. He’s careful, oh so careful, making sure nothing spills or dribbles down Hinata’s chin. When he’s done, he sets it back down on the table and pulls back the covers for Hinata, letting him crawl in before dropping them back over top of him.

“Call for me if you need anything,” Iwaizumi tells him, hand lingering for a moment on his chest before moving away. His voice is soft and warm and filled with concern, making Hinata smile and nod as he closes his eyes.

“Night, Iwaizumi,” Hinata murmurs, wiggling into the warmth of the covers.

“Goodnight, Hinata,” Iwaizumi responds, walking to the door and closing it shut behind him.

Hinata exhales, the serum lulling him into sleep. _Iwaizumi is just downstairs,_ he tells himself as his mind slips away. _He’s just downstairs, and I’m not alone, I’m not alone, I’m not alone, I’m not…_

—

“So, the White Mage, huh?” Hanamaki says as Iwaizumi walks back down the stairs into the tavern. He’s sitting on the bar, Matsukawa wiping down the counter beside him.

Iwaizumi raises his brows, taking a seat on one of the many empty bar stools. “You knew?” he asks incredulously. It shouldn’t surprise him that they pulled what they did, but he can’t help his expression at finding out they knew who he was all along.

Matsukawa shrugs, cleaning out a glass. “Who doesn’t? Word travels fast. You know that as well as we do,” he says. “Couple of merchants said they saw the First Knight travelling with a ginger, and that since the First Knight is supposed to be with the White Mage, he must be the White Mage.” He grabs a bottle from under the counter and pours it into the glass, sliding it over to Iwaizumi. “You look like you need a drink.”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi sighs, letting out the tension as his breath leaves him. He knocks the drink back in one go before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyeing the two with furrowed brows. “I’m still not over what you did earlier. You really could’ve hurt him.”

Hanamaki hums, drumming his hands on the bar. “Would you believe me if I said we were just trying to help him feel better?” he asks. “Besides, we were _careful._  Both of us saw his arms— we weren’t gonna break them again or anything.”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth, wincing at Hanamaki’s poor choice of words. “You may have been, but it was a shit move.”

“What happened, anyways?” Hanamaki asks, pouring Iwaizumi another glass. “You’re coming from the east. Last I heard, west of the desert was where most of the danger is.”

“You look like shit,” Matsukawa adds, ignoring how Iwaizumi snorts. “Seriously. You look like you’re expecting something to attack you.”

“S’been a long couple months,” Iwaizumi replies. He nurses his glass, considering his words before speaking. “It’s safer here in the east than the west, sure, but there was a leviathan in the East River—”

_“What the fu—”_

“—and the Dark Mage’s worshippers on the other side,” Iwaizumi concludes. “We were fine after the leviathan— Hinata was drained from the battle, but we didn’t have long to rest in between. We got split up trying to take down the rest of the cult and everything went to hell. He disappeared and…” Iwaizumi pauses, unsure how to phrase exactly what happened. “He still hasn’t told me everything they did to him, but at the end of the day he’s got both arms out of commission. The potions and serums dull the pain from his arms and the broken ribs and stopped the internal bleeding, but I don’t doubt without them he wouldn’t be able to stand.”

Guilt twists Iwaizumi’s features as he continues. “I should’ve been more careful,” he mutters. “Should’ve sensed that it was a trap and he wasn’t well enough yet for that.” He covers his face with his palm, shoulders tensing as he rubs his thumb over the rim of his glass. “I couldn’t… protect him.” A thought wriggles in the back of his mind; a reminder of those who he couldn’t protect, of the lives that slipped out of his hands, of shipwrecks washed ashore, of black flame burning ragnarok through a small village. He pushes it down, down, down, in favor of dropping his hand and taking a long swig of his drink.

The two stare at him with wide eyes, teasing demeanors washed away with sympathy. Matsukawa purses his lips, reaching under the bar to pull out a large bottle. He pops the cork on it, taking a swig before passing it to Hanamaki and shaking his head. “Well, that explains why you look half dead behind the eyes,” Hanamaki finally says. “Are you sleeping? Resting?”

Iwaizumi looks him straight in the eye. “Have I ever?”

“Good point, but how long will it take Hinata to heal?” Hanamaki asks. “A week? Even with potions and magic powers gifted to him by destiny herself or what have you, you’re stuck here until he can kill demons and smash bad guys, which I doubt he can even think about doing with two broken arms.”

“I know that,” Iwaizumi sighs, rubbing his face.

“He’s not saying you don’t,” Matsukawa tells him. “Just rest for once in your life.”

“Don’t forget about your duties to the throne or to yourself or to him,” Hanamaki adds, pouring himself a glass from the bottle Matsukawa gave him. “Accept that standing still is a part of that duty.”

Iwaizumi grunts in acknowledgement, taking another swig of his drink. “When the hell did you two become philosophers?”

Hanamaki sets his filled glass back down onto the counter, fixing the cork back on. “We’re not,” he snickers. “We just have enough common sense not to work ourselves to death.”

Iwaizumi thinks about swatting at him again, but decides against it, limbs too lethargic, the taste of his drink much more appealing than wiping the smug grin off his and Matsukawa’s faces. Matsukawa goes back to drinking from the bottle, the thick, red liquid Iwaizumi knows to be blood sloshing gently at the bottom as he swirls it after each gulp. Despite his annoyance, Iwaizumi knows the two have good intentions. Hanamaki sips at his drink, feet kicking against the bar as he looks back towards the broken tavern door now resting sorrowfully on its hinges, doing little job to keep out the draft. There’s something deeper to his stare, to the dissatisfaction of his features and the wrinkle of his nose that tells a kind of frustration beyond a broken door.

“You never mention the business in your letters,” Iwaizumi says, looking between Hanamaki and Matsukawa. “Whenever I visited before, too, it’s always been packed. Are things really that bad?”

It’s Hanamaki’s turn to chug the rest of his drink, draining the thick red liquid from his glass in seconds. Iwaizumi suspects it’s mixed with something stronger, judging by how he winces. Matsukawa sighs, leaning up against Hanamaki and pressing the bottle against his thigh.

“We could deal with the decreased traffic— the townspeople come often enough that it isn’t an issue,” Matsukawa says, voice bored, _tired._  “But people are going missing and turning up dead and we’re the only two in town with fangs. People come to their own assumptions.”

“All of which are _wrong,”_ Hanamaki grumbles, bitterly snatching the bottle and pouring himself some more. “Because we’ve had this bar longer than most of them have been _alive_ and we’ve never killed a single person in that time.”

Iwaizumi furrows his brow, sitting further up. “Should I look into it?” he asks, only for Hanamaki to wave him off with his hand.

“It’s really not that bad. I’m just whining,” he says.

“We can handle it ourselves,” Matsukawa tells him. “It hasn’t been going on very long. Maybe two months?”

“Two months isn’t exactly short, either,” Iwaizumi retorts. “You two losing your sense of time with your age?”

Hanamaki barks out a laugh. “Like you’re one to talk,” he says, a grin pulling wide on his cheeks. “If shit gets worse while you’re here, be my guest and look around. But you’re not here to make everything perfect.”

“Yeah, you’re here to take care of sleeping beauty upstairs so you can finish your big, grand quest for greatness,” Matsukawa adds, voice mocking but eyes a bit brighter, smirk a little wider.

“Finish your drink,” Hanamaki says, motioning with his glass as he hops off the counter. “I’ll go make food— you look starved.”

Iwaizumi does just that, sips the rest of his booze and lets himself enjoy the warmth it spreads through his body. He can do with a bit of unwinding, with a bit of relaxation, could use time without looking over his shoulder.

—

Waking to stabbing pain has become all the more normal since the incident in the caves. Hinata’s sleep schedules have been dictated solely by how long the potions and serums can last, how long his body can stay numb to the pain. He lies near paralyzed on his bed, contemplating how best to call for Iwaizumi when the edge of his bed sinks. Hinata cracks open one eye, biting his lip through pain to see Iwaizumi, already popping the cork on one of his potions and measuring it out.

“You seemed awake,” he says, in lieu of _how did you sleep?_ Hinata doesn’t doubt he knows the irony of asking such a question while Hinata is so deep in recovery, and silently thanks him for it. “Do you want the serum for pain or the potions first?”

“Whatever you have is fine,” Hinata grits, attempting to sit up. Iwaizumi is there a second later, supporting his back and leaning him up against the headboard. Hinata is thankful for his strength, for how careful he moves— Iwaizumi’s hands don’t leave him until he’s sure he won’t be jostled further. Iwaizumi nods, brows still tight with concern as he begins to measure out all of Hinata’s medicines.

They’re all enchanted, made by healers to stitch his bones back together and remedy the ailments inside his body. One of them is specifically made to freeze and set his arms, which as inconvenient as it seems, makes the bandage and splinting process much less nerve wracking. Hinata does his best to think about his injuries like he used to think about scraped knees, and fails every time. There is a rabbit hole at the edge of his fingertips, waiting to pull him back into the memories of how each bruise was gotten.

It always comes to a surprise to him when Iwaizumi feeds him his medications. He tips back his head and opens his mouth, and Iwaizumi lifts the glass so that he can drink. It’s both time consuming and terribly intimate, leaving Hinata to stare at Iwaizumi’s face, their foreheads sometimes touching, as he’s taken care of. Iwaizumi doesn’t smile during it, takes it as seriously as he did the battle. When he finishes, he leans back, corks the bottles once more, and cleans up the few drops that escaped onto the sheets. His shoulder are knitted together, eyes never leaving Hinata for more than a second, wide and watching as if to wait for Hinata’s next move. His usual alertness, the energy behind his yellow-green eyes, is replaced by something hesitant, unsure. Hinata opens his mouth, before closing it again. There’s a million things he could ask— but haven’t there always been? It’s only fitting that now, after all they’ve been through, that fact never changed.

“The room is nice,” Hinata comments, looking around at the decor. He can appreciate it more now, how there are old timey clocks and curtains strung up on the walls, how a large fireplace sits at the far end of the room across from the window. It’s old, evident by the wear on the furniture’s edges, but well cared for. Not once did Hinata hear the door creak, and his blankets smell bright and fresh— like flowers, or fruit.

“Matsukawa and Hanamaki take good care of it. They’ve been in this business for years,” Iwaizumi comments, glancing out of the window. Rain patters against the panes, soft and light, providing a momentary lapse in their conversation as they appreciate it.

“Do— how did you meet Hanamaki and Matsukawa?” Hinata asks carefully, shy in the way his eyes glance down to his hands before looking back up at him.

Iwaizumi hums. “That’s nostalgic,” he murmurs before turning his attention back to Hinata. “I met them when I first travelled to Senshi from the west forest,” he explains. “I hadn’t left the west forest prior, and needed somewhere safe to stay before heading into the east.”

“Is it that different in the west?” Hinata asks, tilting his head.

“Colder, mainly. More evergreen trees— pine, cedar, fir— they’re better suited for the weather. The terrain is less rolling hills and fields. Highs are higher and lows are lower,” he says. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, and had just traveled through the desert. I needed somewhere to catch my breath.”

“Were you alone?” Hinata asks. “You must’ve been young— you started training for the Royal Order ten, eight years ago?”

Iwaizumi bites his lip, rubbing the back of his neck. “Er, yeah. My… my family was raised that way— to gain independence? If that makes sense,” he says. “That isn’t important, though, for the story at least. Hanamaki and Matsukawa swept me in, gave me alcohol I’d never tried, and offered a warm bed in exchange for whatever payment I had.” His mouth twitches into a smile. “I’m not sure if they still offer it, but they did have a blood tax, if you’d prefer to pay by offering them a small meal.”

Hinata gulps, feeling himself go a bit pale. “O-oh!”

“When I became a part of the Royal Order, I rose through the ranks quickly. Before I was First Knight, they’d send me farther away from the capital more often. I’d always stay with them, and eventually we began to exchange letters as well,” Iwaizumi says. “They’re older than they look— vampires don't age, afterall— but they don’t act it. Matsukawa fits the profile sheerly by physical appearance, and Hanamaki once said he ‘ditched the haunty act three centuries ago.’ Don’t know if I believe that, though.”

Hinata cracks a small laugh at that, ribs aching from his amusement as he pictures Hanamaki in black garb, surrounded by candles and skulls. The image bubbles even more laughter from him, widening Iwaizumi’s smile enough that his eyes begin to warm. “S-so that's how you knew to come here,” Hinata says, collecting himself, steadying his breathing so that the pain in his abdomen will cease.

Iwaizumi nods, crossing his legs. “I trust them. Although they act like… _that,_ they’re good people,” he says simply, meeting Hinata’s eyes. “I wanted you to be somewhere you could recover safely.”

Hinata stops, holding his breath as Iwaizumi holds his gaze. There is nothing short of genuine in his eyes, his face open and unguarded, unlike how Hinata has ever seen it before. Iwaizumi is content not to move, to just stare in a way that doesn’t leave Hinata feeling uncomfortable as he may expect. Instead, he feels calm, tension leaving his body alongside the pain as the serums begin to work their magic. He smiles, wider than before, watching, _waiting_ for Iwaizumi to mimic.

He does, eyes shining, scales glinting in the soft candlelight. He turns his head, looking over to the door to their room, then back to Hinata. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “I can bring you something.”

Hinata shakes his head. “That’s okay. I’ll go down with you.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow, scooching back. “Are you sure?”

Hinata nods, pushing and kicking the covers back with his legs. He’s still in the clothes he wore the night before and probably needs to change and find a bath and somewhere to change his bandages soon, but for now chases the grumble of his stomach. Iwaizumi helps him up again, holds the door open and follows him down the staircase to the main tavern area.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s eyes seem to glint with excitement as the sight of them coming downstairs. Their eyes are already trained on the stairwell as if they heard them approaching, which Hinata doesn’t doubt they did. “Hey there, sleeping beauty,” Matsukawa says. “Feeling alright?”

Hinata chokes on his own breath, Iwaizumi shooting them a pointed look.

“Careful, Issei, that look of his could kill,” Hanamaki jests, nudging Matsukawa in the arm. “Iwaizumi, refrain from killing my husband, please.”

Hinata reels at the sudden revelation, rethinking everything that happened the day before while Hanamaki snickers. Iwaizumi sighs, rolling his eyes as he helps Hinata sit down at one of the tables. Matsukawa jumps onto the bar, swinging his legs over to walk their way as Hanamaki hands him two steaming mugs. Oblivious to Hinata’s surprise, he sets one in front of him, winking, before sliding the other towards Iwaizumi.

“You’re lucky you didn’t have any customers to see that other than us,” Iwaizumi snorts. “No one wants to know your ass was all over that counter now.”

Hanamaki open his mouth, eyes narrowed and smirk already forming, but Iwaizumi prematurely sends him a glare, somehow sensing what he was about to say.

“Sugar with that?” Matsukawa asks, towering over Hinata in a vaguely threatening manner— or maybe Hinata is just paranoid, intimidated by Matsukawa’s presence. He glances down at the mug, filled with coffee, and nods, figuring it’d do something to tame the bitter aftertaste. Iwaizumi just waves him off, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“So, what’s your choice of food for today?” Hanamaki calls from the other side of the bar, lighting the wood stove. “Joke’s on you, we have a lot of eggs that need to be eaten, so you don’t get a choice.”

“‘Hiro, be nice and ask them how they want them done at least,” Matsukawa says, handing Hinata a bowl of sugar.  

“Over easy,” Iwaizumi says between sips of his coffee.

Matsukawa turns to Hinata, tilting his head with quirked lips. “And for you, sleeping beauty?” he asks.

Hinata’s cheeks flush as he furrows his brow. “I— my name is Hinata,” he stammers, indignant. “And whatever is easiest to get into my mouth is fine with me.”

“We can make you a smoothie or something instead, you know,” Hanamaki suggests. “You can drink it with a straw and save yourself the time.”

Matsukawa chuckles, grinning. “Cute,” he says. “A vampire making a smoothie.”

“Shut up, you love me,” Hanamaki shoots back. He pauses before wiping his hand down his face, exasperated. “Shit, you need a straw for your coffee, too.”

“Some host you are,” Iwaizumi mutters. “You’ve lost your touch with age.”

“Okay, baby-boy, you teenage rebel, you _child—”_

Matsukawa laughs as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and drinks his coffee instead of retorting. He walks back towards the bar, once again choosing to slide over top rather than make the few extra feet to walk around. He approaches Hanamaki, still continuing emphasizing how young Iwaizumi is, as Matsukawa wraps his arms around his waist and buries his head into his neck. Hinata snorts, gaining Hanamaki’s attention.

“You’re not off the hook here, either. You’re like— a tadpole? You’re like an even _smaller_ baby— _mrph,”_ he teases, cut off when Matsukawa plants a kiss square on his lips. They part, both smiling before Matsukawa swats Hanamaki on the backside and moves over to grab Hinata a straw, tossing it his way. Iwaizumi catches it for him, grumbling something about _no tact_ under his breath as he sticks it into Hinata’s mug. Iwaizumi pours the sugar into his coffee for him as well, stirring it around with the straw to dissolve it before pushing it back over his way.

Hinata smiles wide, thanking Iwaizumi for his help as he takes a sip of his coffee— bitter, but sweet enough, warming his chest as he drinks it. His heart feels lighter than it has since arriving on this side of the East River, here, in an empty tavern, drinking coffee through a straw with two vampires and a half-dragon. His chest aches with longing, for his mother, sister, Lady Kiyoko and Yachi, for something bigger he can’t name, but for now, he cherishes this solace, this peace. Hanamaki chops fruits and vegetables and mashes them into a paste while Matsukawa cracks and fries eggs, Iwaizumi kicking his feet onto the table. It’s different— Hinata can’t remember a time where Iwaizumi has been this casual, not just with his scales, but his demeanor. Here, he’s not the First Knight of the Royal Order, doesn’t have any obligations or duties to fulfill and uphold aside from keeping Hinata company.

It makes Hinata smile around his straw, even wider when the glass of fruit smoothie is set in front of him. Iwaizumi switches the straw over before starting on his massive plate of eggs, waiting for Hinata to start before digging in. It’s a little odd, slurping his meal instead of chewing it, but the fruits are all blended into a pureé and Hinata manages to sate his hunger in only a few minutes, so he has no right to complain. He hasn’t been eating much since the incident, and only now that the pain is amply suppressed with serums can he realize just how hungry he’s been.

When he’s finished, Matsukawa takes his mug and glass away, humming as he slips the dishes into a basin filled with water. Hanamaki comes up to the table, sitting on the edge and leaning over to obscure Iwaizumi from Hinata’s view. “Is there anything else we can get you? Bandages, potions, whatnot?” he asks. “There’s a healer in town, I think—”

“You’re confusing that, there’s a _mage_ in town but not a healer,” Matsukawa corrects. Hanamaki just rolls his eyes.

“Just let us know what you need while you’re here,” he finishes.

Hinata nods, thinking of anything he could use. He’s not out of bandages— not yet, anyways— and the potions they were given from the Royal Order are supposed to last his treatment. He’s just about to turn Hanamaki down when he remembers the most simple thing he’s been forgetting, instantly berating himself for looking it over.

“Do you have baths?” Hinata asks, somewhat sheepishly.

Hanamaki’s face splits into a grin, and Hinata finds himself blushing for no reason. He just wants to be _clean,_  nothing more, nothing less. “Oh, of course we have baths,” he says, hopping off of the table. “Do you need a hand?”

“Hanamaki,” Iwaizumi warns, voice more tired than angry.

“I don’t mean it _that_ way,” Hanamaki says, turning back to Hinata, who is already shaking his head.

“Um, I should be fine,” he stammers, eyes flicking back to Iwaizumi nervously. “I— I’ll need help getting changed though.”

“I can get your clothes,” Iwaizumi cuts in, taking the hint. Hinata shoots him a thankful smile, managing to pull himself out of his chair with minimal protest from his ribs. Thankfully, they’ve been healing the quickest out of all of his injuries.

“I’ll lead you to the baths,” Matsukawa offers, drying his hands with a towel. He slides over the counter once more, making a come-hither motion with his fingers to draw Hinata towards him as he pushes open a door next to the stairs. He holds it open for Hinata, allowing him to pass underneath his arm before shutting it behind him and continuing to lead him down the hall. It’s dimly lit, but unlike the main pub, which is lit entirely by candles with no open without, the hall has windows spanning one side, soft blue light pouring in as the rain falls.

“Can— can vampires actually not stand the sun?” Hinata asks, eyeing the rooms along his right. They’re all numbered, likely to be vacant and ready to rent.

Matsukawa hums, tilting his head. “Young ones can’t. The older you get, the less it bothers you. At this point in our lives, Takahiro and I just burn easier than most,” Matsukawa explains, stopping abruptly and turning around to look down at Hinata. “Are you okay to seal your bandages from water? I can start a fire to heat the water, or you can yourself, as well.”

Hinata bites his lip, sparking a small flame in front of him to test out his magic after not using it in a few days. “I— I should be good!” he tells Matsukawa, ignoring how his stomach lurches. The last time he used magic, his flames weren’t enough, his pain overriding his ability to protect himself, to escape, to—

“Hinata,” Matsukawa says, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Hinata jumps, suddenly aware of how clammy his hands have grown, how his shoulders shake ever so slightly. “You okay?”

Hinata nods before he can stop to think, focusing on Matsukawa, on how the shadows of the rain fall across his cheeks. “I— I’m— It’s good, I’m good,” he says, more to himself than to Matsukawa.

Matsukawa nods slowly, eyes lingering on Hinata for a moment before he turns back around and continues to a room at the end of the hall. Using a key he pulls from his pocket, he unlocks the door, holding it open for Hinata to walk through.

Hinata steps in tentatively, looking around the room. There are three baths in total, each tiled in white to contrast the black stone around them. Two lay on the same level as Hinata, circular in shape and embedded in the ground, while a third is raised and pressed into a corner, bordered by two large windows and shaped in a triangle.

“You don’t need to worry about watchers,” Matsukawa tells him, noticing how Hinata’s feet drag, how his shoulders shift. “The windows are enchanted— no one can see in.”

The door behind them opens, and Hinata swivels around to see Iwaizumi carrying a small bundle of clothes in his arm. Matsukawa gives him a wave, heading back towards the door. “If you need anything, just yell for me,” he tells them, before shutting the door as he leaves.

Hinata exhales, making his way over to one of the pools on the floor, slowly moving his left arm to rest above the water. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the simple magic of making the water heat until steam rises in small wisps into the air. His arms are next, and take a little more work. All it is is a simple shield to seal them from the water, but Hinata finds himself paranoid about holes, about leaks, about parts left weak. Either way, it’s over in a second, both arms glowing white before returning to their normal colour with only a shine to indicate any magic had happened.

Iwaizumi sets down his clothes on a small table near the door, moving to the cabinets lining the walls. Hinata watches as he opens them, pulling out of a few different coloured bottles and inspecting the labels. “Do you prefer lavender or sea salt?” Iwaizumi asks, holding up two different vials.

“Lavender,” Hinata answers without hesitation. Iwaizumi nods and sets the blue vial back into the cupboard, twisting open the cap of the other and walking over to Hinata’s bath to add a good amount in. It takes a few moments of running his hand through the water, where Hinata is left confused and unsure if he should ask what is happening before bubbles steadily begin to form, fluffy and smelling brightly of wildflowers, soothing nerves Hinata hadn’t realized were rising. Hinata inhales deeply, ignoring the protest in his side as the scent fills his lungs. Becoming aware of how anxious he was almost makes his shoulders more prone to growing tighter, his hands ready to shake. As he exhales, he turns to Iwaizumi, who wipes his hand on his pants and looks his way.

“Can you help me with my shirt?” Hinata asks him, biting his lip and shifting his weight from leg to leg. His cheeks grow warm as he turns his gaze to the ground. “I— I should be fine with my pants, but the sleeves…”

Iwaizumi blinks, gulping before standing up. “O—of course,” he tells him, voice a little rougher than usual. “I, um, brought you a shirt without sleeves and your cape, to keep the draft out instead of sleeves.”

“Oh!” Hinata exclaims, looking up as Iwaizumi walks behind him. “T-thank you for thinking about that.”

Iwaizumi hums, the sound echoing alongside the slop of water in the stone room. Iwaizumi grabs the hem of Hinata’s shirt and slowly lifts up, pausing for a moment by his ribs. “How high can you lift your arms?” he asks.

Hinata carefully rolls out his shoulders and holds them out in front of him, raising the left a little higher than the right. He can feel the heat of Iwaizumi’s body radiating off of him, warming the goosebumps from his skin. Iwaizumi continues lifting his shirt, making sure that Hinata’s head slips through without trouble, before sliding it back down his arms.

“There,” Hinata sighs in relief, turning back to Iwaizumi and lifting his lips into a smile as the shirt falls to the ground. “Thank you, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, mouth falling open and closed in rapid succession. He flicks his eyes to the ground, away from Hinata’s, as he turns away before speaking. “It’s— it’s no problem,” he says. “I’ll give you some privacy—”

“Wait!” Hinata yelps, blood running cold. Iwaizumi instantly whips back around to face him, tensing up as he looks around before his gaze falls back onto Hinata. Guilt creeps from Hinata’s stomach at his worry, twisting his guts as his shoulders begin to shake. “I— Iwaizumi— please, could you… could you wait outside the door?”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders drop, a breath escaping him as he nods, slow, gentle. “Alright. I’m just behind the door,” Iwaizumi says, reassuring Hinata with soft words and a smooth, firm tone. “I’ll wait for you out there.”

Hinata nods, watching and waiting as Iwaizumi slips outside, sending him one last smile before shutting the door with a click. The room feels infinitely larger with him gone, all empty space, empty walls, no room to hide. Chills run across Hinata’s bare skin as he kicks off his pants and undergarments, shimmying out of them and sliding them towards the wall along with his shirt. The fear of being looked in on isn’t what creep through him— he trusts Matsukawa’s assurance that no one can see him, but maybe it’s just that. His very breaths echo throughout the room and add to the steam, his heartbeat rushes in his ears, his feet step on the tiles— his, his, his, his, and his alone.

Hinata swallows the ever tightening knot in his throat and eases his legs into the hot water, stepping onto the bench before lowering his feet onto the floor. The water and the bubbles envelop him one inch at a time until only his head is exposed. He takes a deep breath before submerging his head under the water, suspended completely in the water of the bath. He summons a weak current, working the water to get the gunk and grime off his skin and hair as he tests how long he can just float, still, at peace. He would do this in the stream, back in Torino, test how long his lungs would hold on days where he needed his mind cleared. Today, it only seems to fuel his suffocation, his need for air not drained when he pops his head from the water and opens his eyes to make sure he’s still where he started.

The bathroom looks back at him, still as the stone it’s built from. Miles separate him from Torino, from his mother, from Natsu. Hinata’s heart seizes at the thought of trying to describe to them what happened, to reliving the memories contained within Moonstone Cave. Iwaizumi only witnessed a fraction of the horrors, and Hinata hasn’t even told him what happened between the twins and him. Hinata lowers deeper into the water, pretending that the warmth is a blanket he can hide in, that it is arms wrapping around him and shielding him. Hinata clings to the fact that Iwaizumi is just outside the door, that he’s not truly alone— and how could he be, with this ache that pounds at his chest?

It isn’t the same as the pain from the breaks, the fractures, the bruises and the bleeding. It tugs and it pulls and it ties every part of his body together, as if to hold him by the sternum in a way that teeters on too tight to bear. But, despite that, it’s familiar after all of these months, and Hinata leans into it, letting his panic ooze into the lavender foam, leaving his body and replacing it with a calmness that makes his mess of a mind simmer down. He pushes the fears to the back corners of his mind as he soaks in the warm water. When he closes his eyes, he’s met with black and speckles of light, and nothing more.

—

The rain has dulled to a drizzle by the time Hinata retires to his room that night. Iwaizumi has already lit the fireplace, room heated enough to keep off the bite of the draft from the windows. They say rainstorms bring out old injuries, but Hinata’s are still fresh and throb insistently with pain, though it may be less because of the weather and more because he’ll have to take his potions soon. He drapes his cape over his shoulders, using it more as a blanket and cherishing the soft fabric against his skin and the comfort it provides. Iwaizumi sits on his own bed across from him, dragging his dagger along the length of the tooth he found back in Koneko. It’s nearly half its original size now, filed down to be lighter and sharpened in the signature shape of a curved fang. Hinata watches as Iwaizumi works, carving a hilt from the remaining root of the tooth. His hands, coated in green scales, slide up and down the blade unscathed. Hinata figures he’s wearing the scales for protection against the sharpened tooth as he feels and wipes off the edges with his hand.

 _Or maybe not,_ Hinata thinks. Iwaizumi could’ve kept the rest of his body as skin, like he did while training with other soldiers in the Royal Order. There’s no _need_ for his entire body to be shimmering green, for his biceps to flex under scales instead of skin. When Hinata thinks about it, he often wears the scales when its just them, when there's no one else to look on. The questions unanswered since they met feel a lot less intrusive now that they know each other, now that Hinata has earned Iwaizumi’s trust.

“Iwaizumi?” Hinata asks. Iwaizumi looks up from the tooth, stopping his motions for a moment to look quizzically Hinata’s way. “Can I ask you something?”

Iwaizumi nods, brow creasing. “Sure, what about?”

Hinata chews on the inside of his cheek, crossing his legs as he musters up a little bit more courage. “About— about dragons. And about you, if that’s okay,” he tells him.

Iwaizumi relaxes his shoulders, a small smile gracing his lips. He looks back down at the tooth, continuing to whittle away at the bone. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

Hinata freezes, not expecting an answer so open. There’s a few beats of silence only broken by the scrape of metal on bone as Hinata searches for a question to start on. His eyes flick down to the fang Iwaizumi carves, an idea lighting in his head so simply he wonders why it didn't come to him sooner.

“Your teeth,” Hinata says. “Are they all pointy? I— I mean, are they all that sharp?”

Iwaizumi sets his dagger down, using one finger to pull back his cheek and expose his back teeth, just as pointed and sharp as the ones at the front. He lets his cheek go, picking back up the dagger loosely. “I have two rows, actually.”

“W—what?” Hinata exclaims. “Really?”

Iwaizumi bites his lip before tipping back his head, tongue touching the roof of his mouth to expose a second row of teeth, all razor sharp edges. He closes his mouth and smiles, wide enough to show them off one last time before he goes back to carving the tooth.

Hinata, left in surprise, shakes his head. “Don’t you cut yourself on them?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says, voice hesitant. “I guess my mouth is made not to be cut by them.” He pauses, tongue running along the inner row. “They fall out and grow back often. Keeps them sharp.”

Hinata eyes widen in curiosity. “Is that why you collect them?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “I— you said you collected them too, right?”

“I did,” Iwaizumi confirms. “I don’t always keep my own. Sometimes I can’t find them or they get lodged in stuff. Most of my collection is other animals ‘nd creatures.”

He digs his dagger into the fang with more force, causing a small chip to fly off and hit the floor. Hinata jumps as it lands in front of him, a stark white against the dark floor. Iwaizumi doesn’t bother to pick the piece up, continuing to work away the rough edges made by the chip. “Was that all you were wondering?” he asks.

Hinata shifts closer to the end of the bed. “No,” he admits, ignoring how his stomach turns with the beginnings of nervousness. “I was wondering about— about your scales, too. About why you don’t always have them on.”

Iwaizumi stops completely, letting out a sigh as he sheaths his dagger and sets the tooth back on his nightstand. For a moment, Hinata tenses, afraid he’s offended him, but Iwaizumi soon speaks, sitting back down and meeting his eyes.

“It’s… complicated,” he starts, green eyes wide and honest, matching the gleam of his scales in the light cast from the window. “Dragons… they don’t often talk to humans. So it’s rare to see a dragon in a human form, or a half-dragon, because both mean that a dragon has reason to interact with humans.” Iwaizumi chews on his lip, sharpened teeth not breaking the skin. “When my scales are visible, it garters attention. Good attention, bad attention— it’s not necessary all of the time.”

“Oh,” Hinata replies, letting the new information sink in. “Do— do you like wearing them?”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi answers, almost instantly. “I prefer them.”

Hinata hums, leaning against the headboard in lieu of resting on his elbows. The past few days have tested just how tedious having two arms out of commission can be, and Hinata can only thank Iwaizumi for being as kind and helpful as he is now. His curiosity is far from sated, though, new questions forming inside his head.

“If most dragons don’t socialize with humans, then, um, why are there half-dragons at all?” Hinata stutters his question out awkwardly, unsure how to dance around the topic. “I— I mean— obviously they don’t _all_ do but— gods that was a weird question. You don’t have to answer, if it’s weird.”

Iwaizumi smiles, lips spreading across his cheeks slow, like pulling taffy. “It’s okay, I don’t mind,” he says. His voice is gentle and quiet, almost contemplative, and Hinata is suddenly aware of how he’s hardly blinked this whole time, continuing to hold Hinata’s gaze even as he flusters. “When dragons fall in love, it’s different than humans.”

“Different?” Hinata asks.

Iwaizumi nods. “Dragons are massive creatures. They... they're powerful, both in physical strength and in magic. My mother always said it’s why a dragon’s love is the way it is,” he says. The fire cracks in the background, warm, low, but nothing else dares to make a sound, as if to preserve the magic between the walls. “Dragons love with all of their soul, their being. It’s more than just an emotion or action, it becomes what ties them to another. And, sometimes, a dragon falls in love with a human, and loves them just the same as they would another dragon. Dragons mate for life, and they live thousands of years, much longer than any human will ever live.” Iwaizumi stops, resting his chin onto his hand. “The human they fall in love with will only be a blink in the dragon’s existence, but if you ask any dragon… it’s worth it, to fall in love.”

Hinata swells with wonder, unable to contain the dreamy grin spreading across his face. “That’s so… romantic,” he sighs. “A bit tragic, but really, _really_ romantic.” He kicks his legs out from under him, letting them rest along the bed. “Your mother— was— um, is she—”

“A dragon?” Iwaizumi finishes. Hinata nods, cheeks flushing a little. “Yes. She taught me everything I know.”

Warmth spreads through Hinata at the image of a young Iwaizumi, covered head to toe in scales, sitting next to a massive dragon— his _mother._ It’s a little odd, and Hinata can’t quite wrap his head around how alien Iwaizumi’s childhood must’ve been. “Could your mom, y’know, can she speak?” he asks, immediately regretting asking something so ridiculous.

Iwaizumi chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, she can speak,” he tells him. “Dragon-tongue, though. It’s magical in origins. It’s… hard to explain how it sounds. It’s hard to explain how you speak it, too.” Iwaizumi shifts, sitting up straight. “My mother is loud. Strong, too. Forest dragons are always large— not as large as mountain dragons— but she’s enormous. I don’t know if I can describe how large her wingspan was.”

“There are different types of dragons?” Hinata asks, barely able to contain his excitement.

Iwaizumi startles, before nodding. “Right, yeah, there are,” he tells him. “They’ve all adapted to the places they reside in. Sea dragons ‘fly’ through the water, arctic dragons have thicker scales, mountain dragons have barbed tails for crushing rock, and so on.”

Hinata leans forwards in anticipation. “And forest dragons?”

“They camouflage into the forest, and are built to be nimble enough to navigate through trees, yet are strong enough to clear them,” Iwaizumi explains. “The west forest is thick, and the trees where we lived were taller than any in the east— tall enough that my mother could move around and not break the lowest branches.”

“Oooh,” Hinata says, brightening as Iwaizumi explains. “You sound like you care about your mom a lot.”

Iwaizumi smiles, pulling his knees closer to his chest. “I do,” he says, soft and caring. “What about your parents? You mentioned them before, but… you really don’t talk much about yourself either.”

Hinata blinks, unaware that that could be the case for Iwaizumi as well. “Oh! You know I’m from Torino and that I lived with my mother and my sister, Natsu. I never really knew my dad. He was a merchant who came and tried to stick around, but he left for good a couple months after Natsu was born. My mom is a seamstress— she made clothes and sold them when the merchants came. She made my clothes and sewed my cape! But Lady Kiyoko was the one who enchanted it.”

“Lady Kiyoko… I’ve seen her, but never formally met her,” Iwaizumi says.

“She was my mentor! Y’know, that whole saying, ‘it takes a village?’” Hinata boasts. “That was how it was when I was learning magic. She taught me, and her girlfriend Yachi became almost like a sister to me and Natsu. Even before then, she would pay mom to make clothes and other things for her. I feel like we’re family at this point.”

“How did you know you were the White Mage?” Iwaizumi asks him, furrowing his brow. “Besides the oracle visiting you, of course.”

Hinata shrugs, wincing as it jostles both his arms. “Ah, well, my sister was attacked— this big, um, bone monster, Living Bones,” Hinata explains, tensing at the memory. “I just… had to save her, and I guess that woke the power awoke inside of me. That sounds really strange, huh? But it’s true— one day it’s all normal and the next something sleeping just… wakes up,” he tells him. “I passed out for two weeks, but after that, Lady Kiyoko knew I was the White Mage. Three months later, we met, and then you know the rest.”

Iwaizumi looks at him, pupils widening with bewilderment. “You really just… fell into this life then,” he comments.

Hinata nods, a bit sheepishly. “I— it sounds weird, I think, but… it feels _right,_ to be here, to do this,” he says, something inside of him swelling beyond the ache. “I don’t know if I’d say it feels like _home,_ but it feels… comfortable. Familiar, I guess.”

Iwaizumi exhales softly, his entire body relaxing as Hinata smiles, unsure what to do or say. “Thank you for telling me this,” he says, setting his feet back onto the ground and reaching over to grab Hinata’s potions. “It means more than I can say.”

“I _want_ to tell you,” Hinata laughs, watching as he pops the cork open and goes through the motions of pouring out one of Hinata’s serums. “I trust you, so… all is good, right?”

Iwaizumi mirrors his smile, hand reaching out to brush along the underside of Hinata’s chin. “Right.”

Hinata parts his lips and drinks his potion, letting the familiar drowsiness the comes with each serum sink deep into his bones. Iwaizumi lets him relax once it’s over, helps him lie back down on the pillows and blows out the candles that light the room so that only the fire burns. “G’night, Iwaizumi,” Hinata says, drawing out the word as his eyes flutter closed. He wants to seize this warmth, this lightness, wants to fall asleep knowing that he’s not alone in any sense.

Iwaizumi hums, and if Hinata cracked open one eye, he could see him watching, scales luminous, glowing bright as he smiles. “Goodnight, Hinata. May you find crystal in your rest,” he whispers, and it soothes the knots Hinata forgot he had tied as he drifts deep into sleep.

—

Sometimes, Oikawa is in his dreams. His _real_ dreams, the ones that are murky and hard to decipher and become smoke once he wakes. It’s still a pleasure to see him, even if their surroundings make no sense. He’s sitting and smiling in the tavern, his long, black cape touching the floor as Matsukawa and Hanamaki serve him a drink. They’re laughing, and Iwaizumi is beside Hinata, and it almost feels _comfortable_ until it doesn’t at all.

The room twists and contorts, becomes only darkness and Oikawa, lying on the ground. Hinata falls to his knees and says something, words falling onto deaf ears as Oikawa turns away, black fire burning all around him, burning in him, through him, within him, hands clawing at the ground until slender pale becomes ragged and red. Hinata hears echoes of his cries and reaches forwards, hand passing through Oikawa as he tries to hold him, to stop the pain he can feel, only for the boy to completely disappear.

Panic rushes through Hinata as the world spins, shining bright blue then black, blue then black, blue then black. He falls to his knees and looks at his hands— splintered with bone, numb to all pain— looks up and sees himself in a mirror and the twins behind him. They reach forwards and grab his face before he can cry out or run away, pulling and tugging on his skin as scratches open up on Hinata’s bare arms, pain, _real_ pain, coursing through him. He chokes out a sob as he falls backwards, the dream still spinning as he tries to wake himself up, to pull himself out. _I’m just dreaming,_  he tells himself as he relives the sensation of Atsumu’s foot digging into his crushed arm. _None of this is real._

But it was real, and the memory is as real as any other, as real as the ache that has Hinata curling and screaming until he’s held down onto his back, already tensing as he waits for Atsumu to snap his other arm. He hears a sickening crack, and then—

And then he wakes up, jolting upright and ignoring how every inch of his body is alight with pain. His ribs protest weakly as tears silently trail down his face, Hinata scrambling to stand up and look for someone, _anyone—_ Iwaizumi. His eyes fall upon the bed across from him and Iwaizumi’s sleeping form. He snores, gentle, face still pressed into his pillow. Hinata knows he can hear better than himself, figures he must’ve kept silent even in his nightmare. A tremor rushes through him, curling his left hand close to him while his right lays immobile at his side, his entire arm in too much pain to even try and move his fingers. None of it matters— not when Hinata feels bare, exposed, terrified beyond explanation as his arms throb alongside his head.

 _I’m not alone,_ is the only thought Hinata can cling to, flashes of twin faces on the back of his eyes. _I’m not alone._

But Iwaizumi is asleep, peacefully so, and Hinata can’t contain the terror inside of him enough to think about lying in silence, in darkness, for any longer. With steps feather light and a heart full of hope that the floor won’t creak, he pads his way towards the door, pushing it open with his bare feet to head down to the tavern.

The staircase is lit, warm candlelight flickering gently against the wooden walls. Hinata stays close to the railing, listening to the scrape of glasses on counter and muddled voices below, signalling that at the very least, he isn’t the only one awake. His hesitance dissolves by the sheer need to be near another person, leaving him to abandon his stealth as he rounds the corner to enter the tavern bar. As his eyes adjust to the brightness, Hanamaki and Matsukawa come into view, lounging along the the bar, idly cleaning glasses as he approaches.

“Hey, Hinata,” Hanamaki calls, looking up as he sets a glass down into a cabinet. His turns to eye the clock behind him, before catching his eye with concern riddling his usually carefree features. “Something go bump in the night?”

“Dreams,” Hinata mumbles, hoping that any tears go unnoticed. He sits down on one of the nearby couches, Matsukawa humming in understanding.

“They don’t sound like good ones,” Hanamaki says. Hinata shrugs, once again forgetting the pain it causes on his arms. Even with the numbness provided form the serum, his right arm begins to throb, causing him to wince and bite his lip.

“Looks like that hurts,” Matsukawa comments, reaching under the bar to pull out a brown bottle. “Don’t have a serum for pain, but this should do the trick.” He unscrews the cap and pours a glass, sticking a straw into it and handing the drink to Hanamaki on the other side of the bar. Hanamaki passes it to Hinata, who eyes it with apprehension once it’s set in front of him. “Don’t worry, it’s sweet,” Matsukawa says, climbing on top of the bar so that on leg dangles off the front.

Eyes still narrowed, Hinata leans over, taking a tentative sip. It’s warm and a little hard to swallow, but tastes like the spiced candies he’d buy when the merchants stop in town. At the very least, he takes another sip, letting the taste settle in his mouth before swallowing, relaxing his shoulders and leaning back into the couch.

“Thanks,” Hinata says, sighing softly. His voice scratches out of his throat, but neither Matsukawa nor Hanamaki seem to mind his disheveled look. From his voice, to his bare feet, to the blotchy redness he no doubt sports on his cheeks, Hinata is hardly the spitting image one would expect from the White Mage.

Hanamaki moves to lean up against the bar, head resting on Matsukawa’s chest, elbow resting on the counter. “Do you get nightmares often?” he asks, lips quirked in curiosity rather than pursed with concern.

“Not usually _these_ kinds of nightmares,” Hinata says, focusing on the flicker of the candles and how Matsukawa runs his hand down Hanamaki’s arm. “I’m not used to… reliving stuff. I just wanna forget about it, but my head has other ideas.”

“It’s less scary when you remember you already lived through it,” Matsukawa tells him.

“It _feels_ real. It feels like I’m still there,” Hinata sighs, voice quiet and rough and exhausted.

“But you aren’t,” Hanamaki says. “You can train and get better so you don’t get hurt again, but the memories are gonna stay with you either way.”

“Uh huh,” Hinata mumbles, unconvinced. He takes another swig of his drink, a little too quickly. It burns on its way down, leaving him puckering slightly. “So I— I just accept I’m gonna be terrified of sleeping?”

“No,” Hanamaki counters, voice firm. “You remind yourself that you’ve got tons of people behind you.”

“And that you’re gonna grow from all of the shit you were put through,” Matsukawa adds. He pauses, wrinkling his nose. “Gods, that sounds cliché.”

“That’s because it’s true,” Hanamaki says, nudging him. He looks Hinata in the eye, eyes softening. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it's that time itself doesn’t heal wounds— working to heal them does, and working to heal takes time.”

“You’re here for what, three weeks?” Matsukawa asks. Hinata nods, taking another sip of his drink before sinking back into the couch. “Use this time to recover your arms _and_ your mind.”

Hanamaki nudges Matsukawa again with a playful grin. “What are you, a therapist?” he jokes.

Matsukawa shoots him one back. “Bartender, therapist, same difference.”

Hinata cracks a smile at that, holding down his laughter for the sake of his ribs and Iwaizumi’s rest. At the sight of his smile, Hanamaki smirks, Matsukawa raising a hand.

“Hey, look,” Matsukawa says, grinning. “It worked a little bit, didn’t it?”

Hinata averts his eyes, nodding and taking another sip from his glass. He can’t deny that their concern, advice, and help— however unconventional— have managed to lift his spirits enough for him to feel warmth fluttering back inside of him instead of the cold clutches of fear. Although, it may be whatever he’s drinking. Hanamaki takes it upon himself to slip from under Matsukawa’s arm and grab the bottle, topping off Hinata’s glass.

“You know,” he says, walking back to the bar to set the bottle down. “I’ve never met a White Mage before.”

“Neither have I,” Matsukawa says. “I assumed I wouldn’t.”

Hinata blinks in surprise, tilting his head. “How… how old are you guys, anyways?” he asks.

Hanamaki purses his lips, counting idly on his hands for a moment. “I’m eight-hundred, eight-hundred and twelve, I think?” he turns to Matsukawa, looking for clarification.

“Hm, sounds about right. Might be thirteen, actually,” Matsukawa says, smug smirk working its way onto his lips. “Either way, I’m a hundred years older.”

Hanamaki scoffs. “Okay, asshole,” he jokes, feigning disdain when Matsukawa kisses him on the cheek. Both seem oblivious to Hinata’s shock, his eyes wide and mouth agape at the fact that the two vampires in front of him have lived for near a millennia.

“Oh,” Hinata says, trying to contain his shock if only not to be teased. “Okay, um… wow. So you were alive while the other White Mages were?”

“I was alive for two of them,” Hanamaki tells him, jabbing a finger towards Matsukawa. “He remembers the second one.”

 _“Vaguely,”_ Matsukawa reminds him. “It’s been a while, and I was young.”

“You— you still—” Hinata stammers, overcome with curiosity at lives— his predecessors’ lives, their destinies. “What were they like?”

Hanamaki thinks for a moment, tilting his chin up as he stares at the ceiling. “Well, the last White Mage was a notable figure— royal blood, or something?”

“No, not royal,” Matsukawa corrects. “Wealthy.”

“Same thing,” Hanamaki says, flipping his hand. “Either way, he was able to train and be taught all these magicks to aide him, but rumour has it he was hardly a people person. Hardly spoke, saved others in silence— a real good samaritan fellow, kinda priestly. The Dark Mage was a girl… she was younger than him by a few years, but went completely mad with power. Some said she was raised by witches, others that she grew up in a cult of worshippers— either way, she killed anyone in her path. Overthrew a castle in the west forest and lived there until she and the White Mage met. Once that happened, well...” Hanamaki trails off, shrugging. “Same as it goes. People moved back into the castle, last I heard.”

Hinata shudders, something inside of him throbbing. He can picture her— the girl, the Dark Mage— if not in full colour, then in fleeting images of ratty hair and skin scarred, almost torn. He takes a swig of his drink, letting it warm his stomach before speaking. “A—and the one before?”

Hanamaki sighs heavily, rubbing his face. “Kids, both of them. Boy and girl— someone told me they grew up together, but I’m not too sure how true that is. Either way, they died before either of them reached adolescence,” Hanamaki tells him. “It happened fast— one second, all is well, the next, the Leviathans are awake and half of Seishun is up in flames, then all goes back to how it was not a few years later.”

Hinata gulps, gnawing on his bottom lip. A part of him doesn’t even want to ask about the other two— something deep inside of him tells him he already knows, but a burning curiosity bubbles out of him before he can stop it. He turns to Matsukawa, whose eyes have drifted to the door for much of the conversation. As if sensing his gaze, he turns, dark eyes staring Hinata down before he can even ask.

“Humans didn’t remember the curse, but the others did,” he starts, reaching to grab a bottle from behind the bar. “Dragons suddenly disappeared, elves became reclusive, and vampires and other folk took to the shadows. It was more of a myth than a curse up until it wasn’t. I was a real young vampire then. I wasn’t alive when the first Mages were around, so I didn’t believe in the legend—”

“Like a rebellious teen,” Hanamaki croons. Matsukawa shakes his head, lips lifting.

“But everyone was like that. When the Dark Mage came to life once again, he conquered city after city, burnt down towns and killed for fun. He started creating more monsters, _new_ monsters, not ones like the Leviathans, but—”

“New monsters… just like the first,” Hinata mumbles. He wonders if Matsukawa would recognize the creatures in the Book of Monsters he still carries around with him, thinks about asking before Matsukawa continues.

“Exactly. Vampires are hardly holy creatures, but we’re not monsters. Back then, it didn’t matter. The fear of being killed by something unconquerable drove people to shun most other creatures. You just came from Koneko, right? Wonder why werecats still live mainly amongst their own?” Hinata nods, tilting his head with concern and curiosity knitting his eyebrows together. “For the same reason that vampires had bounties on their heads and elves stopped sending embassies to the royals. The thought that anything not human was a monster became truth, and it lasted for _years_ before the White Mage arrived.”

“But— but that was fixed, right?” Hinata asks as Matsukawa takes a long drink from his bottle. “Seriously, no one hates werecats now, and you guys own a tavern.”

Matsukawa sets the bottle down, lips tinted red, cheeks flushed with fresh blood. “It was great, when the White Mage awoke, because everything that happened before was happening again. People were saved, families reunited, the whole bit. But they eventually faced off and killed themselves while trying to kill each other,” he says. “Those fears fell out of favour once people realized a White Mage _would_ rise, but the effects of what happened are still here, making our pockets lighter simply because people think what they want to.”

An elongated silence passes between the three as Hinata processes all of the information given to him. Hinata knew the legend— every child in Seishun did. They were bedtime stories and cautionary tales, were lessons in school and campfire mysteries, but never had he learned about the people behind them. These lives, those people, shared his fate, shared the same strings of destiny that Hinata does today. It could be his imagination, could be just an overactive mind, but he can picture each face of each Dark Mage and all of their differences, can trace some part of a memory he never lived all the way back to pitch black eyes and total darkness.

Hinata drinks again. He was just like the others— he had a story, a life before the magic took hold, and so did Oikawa. His stomach twists at the idea of whatever Oikawa must’ve faced to fuel him to kill an entire army at the age of ten. Did he even have a childhood? A family?

 _At the very least, he had Iwaizumi,_ Hinata thinks, _but for how long?_

Hinata is brought back from his thoughts by a lingering thought, words that don’t quite make sense. He pushes back the thoughts of Oikawa, of the Dark Mages, knowing they’ll be waiting for him when all is said and done.

“Wait,” Hinata says, mind rewinding back to what Matsukawa said. “What do you mean ‘making our pockets lighter’?”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes. “Oh, we have enough money to last us another eight hundred years, don’t worry,” he tells him. “Business is just slow because there’s some kind of monster in the area. Like he said— people blame us sometimes.” Hinata opens his mouth, but Hanamaki beats him to the punch, holding up a finger. “You don’t need to worry. We’ve taken care of ourselves for this long, right?”

Hinata tries to protest, but Matsukawa speaks over him. “Seriously, both your arms are broken.”

He huffs. “Like I could forget that.” He leans over, taking another sip from his drink before realizing the glass is empty. Leaning back against the couch, he yawns, suddenly aware of how his vision tugs at the corners, at how much heavier his body has become. Matsukawa hums, appearing beside him and taking his glass away, resting it on the counter.

“You should head back to sleep while you’re feeling tired,” Matsukawa says. “Like I said, it’s no magic potion, but you should be able to stay asleep until morning.”

Hinata considers protesting, but another yawn takes hold before he can even think of anything to say. “I guess you’re right,” he says, nervousness bogged down by the gentle warmth in his stomach. “Thank you for all of this.”

Hanamaki grins, resting his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s our job. Now go to bed— Iwaizumi would have our heads if we kept you up all night.”

“But of course, we’d love to have you stay up with us, if you wanted,” Matsukawa purrs, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Heat creeps across Hinata’s cheeks as he jumps to his feet, swaying slightly, ribs groaning in protest. “I— I’m good!” he squeaks, heading back towards the stairs.

“We’ll just see you in the morning then,” Hanamaki laughs, elbowing Matsukawa’s side. The two watch him lumber up the stairs, slow and careful, waiting until they hear the _click_ of his room’s door to look back to each other. Hanamaki pouts at Matsukawa, slinging his arms around his husband’s shoulders as Matsukawa quirks a brow.

“What?” he asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“Nothing, you big flirt,” Hanamaki says, pecking his lips. “C’mon, help me clean this all up and take me to bed— it’s been too long since we’ve _relaxed.”_

Matsukawa snorts, hands finding homes on his hips. “Takahiro, it’s been a day.”

“My point exactly,” Hanamaki says, smirking. He pulls away, grabbing Hinata’s glass and the bottle of blood Matsukawa was drinking before heading back around the bar to clean up, knowing he’ll be there to join him soon enough. He sighs happily as he douses the glass in warm water. They’ve both lived too long not to enjoy the small gifts, the bigger graces life has in store. If that means staying up because they hear tossing and turning in the room above or spending the night wrapped up with nothing in between them, then so be it. Hanamaki doesn’t have any room to complain.

—

The days pass in Kyuuchi slowly, blended together by their similarity and broken whenever Hinata has to wake to take his potions. The town’s streets are bleak and uncrowded, and Hinata only takes to walking them once, following Iwaizumi to the stables to feed their horse. Other than that, Hinata has not much else to do besides acquaint himself with the darker corners of his mind and every inch of Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s tavern and inn. His ribs ache less and less with each day, and by the end of the working week, he can move the fingers in his left hand without much pain at all. The mobility on his left arm is a blessing, especially when his right is still frozen in place, crushed and still in the process of mending.

With all of the healing his body undergoes, Hinata can’t help but fear his mind falls behind. There’s still a rift drawn between him and his thoughts, a distrust of the shadows of the night and the places his thoughts tend to wander. Iwaizumi still waits outside of the bathroom while Hinata bathes, does so without Hinata having to ask. When he’s done, he steps out, uses his one hand to pull on his undergarments and pants, calling Iwaizumi back in to help him with his top. He drops the spell keeping his bandages dry once the water has been towelled off, once Iwaizumi has finished helping him into his clothes. It'd be hard to remember that he was even maintaining the spell if not for the gleam on bandages, dull and worn, reminding him that something magical was in effect.

Now, the two sit on the edge of one of the empty baths, Iwaizumi eyeing the bandages as Hinata drops the minor spell. “They could use changing,” he comments, frowning at the sight of once pristine bandages torn, frayed, and stained.

Hinata looks down at them, lips pursing in thought. “Could you help me with them?” he asks. “They’re kinda itchy.”

Iwaizumi nods, standing to head towards the main cabinet to fetch some fresh bandages. Hinata has no doubt in either the magical binding and setting of his arm, nor Iwaizumi’s abilities to treat a wound, but his breaths grow tight in spite of it. There’s a fear of the unknown, of what lies underneath the wrappings an what his arm looks like after being shattered. Hinata doesn’t care for physicalities, was never one for caring about dirt on his face or weird bruises, but the thought of an arm, his arm, never being the same leaves him twitching and hoping the results aren’t too grotesque.

Iwaizumi’s hands are steady; they untie the knot holding the old bandages together and unravel them without care for the grime and the blood that coats them. Hinata averts his eyes as soon as he sees red, afraid that the skin may be open and raw— a sight he can’t bring himself to see.

“It’s old blood,” Iwaizumi tells him, voice low and quiet. It’s accompanied by the drip of water from Hinata’s hair into the empty bath, the tap of his feet against the cool tile. Hinata nods if only to acknowledge he heard, keeping his eyes trained down as Iwaizumi continues, slow and meticulous so as to not touch the tender flesh. Hinata hardly feels anything besides the cool air, aided by the numb of painkiller serums and potions alike. Iwaizumi leans back, balling up the used bandages and setting them aside. “There— just let me know when you’re ready for me to bandage it back up.”

Hinata takes a deep breath, steadying himself before turning to his right, facing Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi’s eyes hold no sign of worry or disgust, but instead are warm, pupils widening beyond their small slits as he stares. Hinata bites the inside of his cheek, looking back down at his arm to assess the damage for the first time since he earned the wound.

It couldn’t be called pretty, not in any sense. His skin is clammy from spending so long swaddled in bandages, but far from pale. The skin is a deep reddish brown shade, fading lighter in some places and a deeper purple in others, flecked with long scratched and puncture marks scabbed over. Some are much larger than others, the largest thick and wide and stretching the length of Hinata’s hand, the smaller simple stippled marks scratches no thicker than a strand of hair. He studies them, furrowing his brow as a shudder runs through him at the cool air.

“It’s kinda gross,” he comments, stomach twisting at the sight of of purple deepening at his elbow, the memory of Atsumu’s foot grinding the wound further into his skin sickening him more than the sight itself. A small part of him urges to poke and prod at the bruise, to snuff out the lingering traces of _them_ from his body. He holds himself back— even with the serum to numb and the spell to bind and set, prodding a broken arms bruise won’t give him the relief he desires. With a heavy sigh that shakes too much for his liking, he looks back up to Iwaizumi, catching how his eyes follow to meet his gaze as if he were watching him.

“Here,” Iwaizumi says, lifting a damp towel to his arm. “I’ll clean it before I bandage it again. It’ll sting, but let me know if I hurt you.”

Hinata nods biting his lip as Iwaizumi dabs the cloth along the flaking patches of blood on his skin. The twinge of tender flesh is nothing compared to what Hinata’s been through, but he winces anyways, controlling the urge to jerk away from Iwaizumi’s hands as they brush against his wrist. His scales are toughened, almost like callouses on skin, can only be described as soft even though Hinata knows they could run along the razor edge of a blade and come away without a scratch. That touch alone slows the ever quickening race of his heartbeat, leaving Hinata disappointed when the rough cloth of the bandage takes its place. Hinata looks up from his arm to watch Iwaizumi’s expression of concentration, of how his brow furrows and creases, lip caught between teeth in an afterthought. There’s little hesitance in his motions, working with a kind of ease that proves this isn’t the first arm he’s bandaged up.

 _He must know how to tend wounds, then,_ Hinata thinks. _How many times has someone gotten hurt in front of him? How often is he the one to patch them up again?_

Water drips, and Hinata wonders, thinks back to when they first met, when Iwaizumi declared he’d rather work with Hinata than for the king. Does Daishou know his First Knight thinks of him in such a way? If Iwaizumi said he protected Senshi after becoming the First Knight, then why was he sent with Hinata?

 _And why,_ Hinata thinks, _did he even follow the order to come with me?_

Something tugs Hinata’s chest, a nagging suspicion, a gut feeling. If Iwaizumi, someone of such high respect, looked down at the person above him, why become a knight? _Does he have his own goal? To protect others, like me?_

Hinata’s mind goes back to Oikawa— like it tends to do when his thoughts swarm. The links of Iwaizumi’s path entwine with the Dark Mage, that much is for sure. Hinata doesn’t indulge the thought any longer, eyes tracing over Iwaizumi’s face, how it has relaxed over the few minutes taken to wrap Hinata’s arm. He sits up and wonders for just a moment longer as the light reflected from the bath dances across his scales. They shimmer, green against the cool grey and white of the bathroom stone, flickers and flecks of blue enchanting Hinata long enough to remember whatever wall existed before has been chipped away— he can ask, he has Iwaizumi’s trust.

Hinata clears his throat as Iwaizumi lets go of his arm, setting it by Hinata’s side to hang, set and limp. “Iwaizumi—”

“Hajime,” he says, cutting him off mid speech. Hinata freezes, eyes widening as he looks up at Iwaizumi, unsure what he means.

“Wha—?”

“Call me Hajime,” Iwaizumi tells him. His voice is clear, smooth as the gentle pulse of rain drumming against the window. Hinata holds his tongue, surprise keeping his words at bay as Iwaizumi blinks. “You know me too well to call me anything else.”

“O—oh,” Hinata replies, breathy, faint. His tongue slips around the syllables, head growing dizzy. “H—Hajime.”

There’s a beat of silence where they say nothing at all, letting the name echo throughout the bathroom, off of the water, off of the tile, absorbed into their skin with the weight of a name Hinata never thought to speak.

“Shouyou,” Iwaizumi finally says, gentle, quiet. “I called you Shouyou, back in Moonstone Cave.”

Hinata pauses slipping through his memory to the world spinning, to free falling with nothing below his feet but a drop and mirrored horrors. He remembers, in all it’s clarity, Iwaizumi’s voice— hoarse and strained, screaming his name, his _given_ name, as if it were the only thing that could bring him back. And, amongst all of the darkness that day brought, a small beam of light shines through, enough to have Hinata smile, enough for him to raise his chin.

“You can— you can call me it now,” Hinata tells him. “If you want— I mean you already did, but if you—”

“Shouyou,” Iwaizumi cuts him off, a hand resting on his left shoulder, warm, comforting. Tension oozes from Hinata as his gaze flickers from Iwaizumi’s arm back to his eyes, to his smile, wider than Hinata has ever seen it before. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Hinata asks, face softening as he smiles up at him. “You’ve been the one who’s been saving me.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes drop down to the tile, his hands tracing the lines of the stone. His chest rises and falls, slow, timed, before he looks back up, all softened edges and kind eyes. “For trusting me,” he tells him.

Hinata holds his breath, scanning Iwaizumi’s face for any hint of exaggeration, knowing he’ll find none. The genuinity of his words are proved not only by the unwavering eye contact, but the open shoulders, the posture so clearly trained on Hinata and nothing else. Iwaizumi, for all of his enigmas, his past held close to his chest, speaks with a kind of truth that leaves Hinata stunned. It leaves him searching for words to match the gravity of something so small with the same impact of a thousand sentences strung together like festival lights lighting up an entire town, of a few words that make all of the difference.

“Of course,” Hinata tells him, in lieu of anything else, because he trusts that Iwaizumi can tell that their comradery has grown in the months they’ve spent together. And Iwaizumi’s smile grows until the white of his teeth show, and he ducks his head down just for a second, as if there’s something he can’t quite believe. Before Hinata can say anything else, he’s standing up, offering Hinata an arm. His necklace dangles as he leans over, the pink crystal glimmering in the light cascading off of the water.

“Come on, you look freezing,” Iwaizumi says. Hinata accepts his help, leaning into his touch as he pushes off the floor, examining how the hair on his arms has raised without his knowing, the chill of water cooling his body despite the warmth in his chest.

They leave the baths behind, water still dripping down Hinata’s neck, questions left unanswered but heart content nonetheless. Iwaizumi leads the way back towards the inn, Hinata left to watch his back and think— about his name, about his trust, about what the inside of his head must be like. His heart clenches with fondness, a smile spreading wide across his face as he wonders what else lies beneath Iwaizumi’s scales.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOPE Y'ALL ENJOYED THE CHAPTER!! next one is up may 20th! see you then!


	10. bared fangs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY THIS IS LATE AGAIN we ran into some troubles again but finally its here!! i realized too late how long this chapter was and by the time i figured we could split it into two it had already been so long since we updated and i didnt wanna update 2 weeks late with a 7k chapter. so i hope you guys enjoy this extra long chapter!
> 
>  —
> 
> hey guys its kj! ive been having issues lately with writing among other things which is why this chapter took as long as it did to come out. with that being said, this chapter has some truly wild moments, and im so glad it can be finally posted!!! hope you enjoy!!!!!

In the days that follow, Hinata regains strength in his left arm, wakes with the binding spell lifting and only a deep throb in his right. It’s not his dominant hand, but it’s much better to finally have mobility back in some form. Just holding his staff calms his heart sometimes, keeps him from fearing the helplessness that comes alongside his injuries. With his staff in hand, enough confidence returns for him to cast a heal on his right, if only so he won’t be as reliant on the potions and serums. If the medics of the Royal Order were correct, he only has four days until his right arm will be back in commission. Hinata could very well try and heal it all of the way, but an inkling nestles itself in the back of his mind— that he won’t do it right, that it’ll only get worse— forces him to take caution.

He can wait four days.

In the meantime, Hinata gets to know Kyuuchi the best he can, wandering the streets with Iwaizumi or listening to Hanamaki’s stories of the town. Most of his days are spent lounging in the tavern and helping out the best he can. There’s little need to, what with the slow business and everyone’s insistence that he rest his right arm as much as possible. Hanamaki and Matsukawa have enough books to constitute having a library, but Hinata was never one to read. Iwaizumi helps himself to them, though, and Hinata listens to his summaries of the stories to fight off the curiosity dampened by his impatience to keep flipping pages.

Today, he lies across one of the loveseats in the tavern and props his feet up on the arm, watching Matsukawa and Hanamaki as they play cards on the bar. He’s halfway between dozing off into an afternoon nap when Hanamaki groans at being beat and throws his hand down, earning him a playful shove from Matsukawa. They bicker without words for a few moments, poking and prodding before Matsukawa sparks a flame in his hand to make Hanamaki startle for half a second before pushing the hand away. Hinata jolts up right, feet smacking against the ground with enough force to warrant the vampires to look his way as he stares at them with shock.

“You— you can do magic?” Hinata exclaims eyes trained on the ruby red flame in Matsukawa’s hand. It snuffs out with one wave as Hanamaki grins, resting an elbow on Matsukawa’s shoulder.

“We can do a lot of things,” he says. “Including magic.”

Hinata’s smile widens as he rocks forwards. “Eh? Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks. He shakes his head, warding off the question as another idiosyncrasy of the two he’ll never quite understand. “Can you show me some?”

Hanamaki smirks, rolling up one of his sleeves so that his arm is bare to the elbow. Fire begins to crawl up his forearm, coating his skin until the features are hardly noticeable. Hinata’s mouth falls open at the sight— he can control and send fire flying, but he never stopped to consider coating himself in it.

“How are you doing that?” Hinata asks, eyes wide and voice toned with wonder. “That flame is really strong— doesn’t it hurt?”

Hanamaki extinguishes the flame, showing only his arm with a soft light encompassing it. “The trick is to put a thin layer of a barrier around your skin so that you don’t end up burning yourself. If you don’t control it properly, it can severely hurt you.”

“Is it supposed to be defensive?” he asks.

Hanamaki shrugs. “Offensive, defensive, it works for both. You can think of it as a double-edged sword, given the risk.”

Hinata buzzes, tapping his feet against the floor. “Isn’t it difficult to do that level of magic without a staff, or a wand, or something?” he asks.

Hanamaki waggles his finger, tutting softly. _“Those_ have only been around for... what? Two-hundred years or so?” he asks, looking at Matsukawa for confirmation.

“Two-hundred, hundred-fifty, who’s keeping count,” Matsukawa says, waving it off. “It saves a magic user from the recoil of strong magic, as well as lets you harness the Fog more easily, but we’re old school and sturdy enough not to need it,” he finishes smugly. “Wanna see something even cooler?”

Hinata nods eagerly, already on the edge of his seat. Matsukawa closes his eyes, exhaling softly before rolling out his neck. As soon as he moves, his image doubles, triples, multiplies into a series of after images that follow him as he stands. Transfixed on the many versions of Matsukawa, he watches as they raise their hands in canon, snapping their fingers so that it echoes down the line. He does it again, starting from one of the centre Matsukawa's, before finishing a third at the far end. Hinata tries to distinguish which one is _really_ him, only to be wrong when the images converge at the one standing closest to Hanamaki.

Mouth agape, Hinata stares at him, unsure that he’s even real. Hanamaki snickers at his reaction, rolling down his sleeve while Matsukawa smirks, enjoying Hinata’s shock and confusion.

“How— how did you _do_ that?!” Hinata exclaims, excitement pouring through him. “Like— how’d they— how’d you— how— just, how?”

Matsukawa hums. “Illusionary magic,” he answers simply.

“I’ve _never_ seen illusions like that,” Hinata says. “You were all moving in sync, and then not, and then you moved somehow? I’m— I’m just—” Hinata stops, shaking his head as he runs out of words.

“Think of it like holding two mirrors up to each other,” Matsukawa tells him, before pursing his lips. “Not quite that— like tracing your movements and then using the after images to mix up your positioning. More like hiding a coin underneath three of the same glass.”

Hinata tilts his head, shaking off some of his confusion. “I think I understand. Kind of. A little. Somewhat,” he says. “I understand what Hanamaki did better, though.”

Matsukawa chuckles. “I’ll show you how, maybe, if you’d like.”

Hinata beams at him, at the prospect of learning something new, something to make him _stronger._ “Would you really?” he nearly shouts.

“Duh. Then we get bragging rights of training the White Mage,” Hanamaki says, grinning.

Matsukawa nods in agreement. “Haven’t shown off tricks in awhile— it’d be fun. I’m not surprised you’ve never seen something like that, though; these kinds of magic have fallen out of fashion over the centuries.”

“Yeah, everyone wants the flame throwing, lightning summoning, flashy magic,” Hanamaki bemoans, dramatically laying himself onto Matsukawa, a hand pressed to his forehead. “Kids these days don’t understand the trials of burning yourself in order to become strong.”

Hinata isn’t sure how much of a real criticism his words are supposed to be, but judging by the way he nearly falls off his chair it isn’t much more than teasing. He ignores it for now, a lingering curiosity burning in the back of his mind.

“Hey, do you guys know about any magic that’d let you warp from one place to another?” Hinata asks. “Like teleportation.”

Hanamaki looks over to Matsukawa, who makes a face of uncertainty. “I haven’t heard of anything like that in a very long time. It was talked about when I was still human, but I’m sure it’s a myth. Even if it existed, something like that would take a shitton of magical power to use. Most would die trying, I think,” he tells him.

Hinata furrows his eyebrows, looking down at the ground with his lips pursed in thought. While the oracle remains a mystery, Oikawa likely holds even more power than Hinata. The creations of a Dark Mage are terrifyingly large enough to make Hinata believe it could be possible, that someone of his caliber, with his experience, could carry through.

Matsukawa interrupts his thoughts with a hum. “What has you wondering?”

Hinata panics, mind swarming with an reply aside from _the Dark Mage_ and _oracles._ He’s saved from having to scrounge up an excuse by the sound of the door opening, Iwaizumi walking in with a cloth bag held in his arms. Hinata turns his attention his way, smiling as Iwaizumi shuts the door with his foot and approaches the bar to set the bag down.

“How was the town?” Hanamaki asks as vegetables spill from the bag.

“You missed them showing off magic— Iwa— Hajime, did you know they could do magic?” Hinata asks.

Iwaizumi looks his way, nodding. “Yeah, I did,” he says. “Did you two not tell him at all?”

Somewhat taken aback at the fact that he was left out of the loop, Hinata sinks down into the couch as Hanamaki shrugs. “I mean, it never came up, so…” he trails off. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Iwaizumi sits down at the bar, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I overheard someone saying a girl went missing last night,” he tells them. “They said she was gone without a trace.”

Hinata stiffens, aware of what this means for Matsukawa and Hanamaki. “They don’t think that you two did it, do they?” he asks, looking between Iwaizumi, Matsukawa and Hanamaki.

“They didn’t say,” Iwaizumi says. “They went inside soon after, and I wasn’t about to follow them into their own home.”

Matsukawa sighs, shaking his head. “Damn.”

“I’m not naive enough to wish she just ran away,” Hanamaki sighs, straightening. “Odds are it’s connected to the rest of the missing cases.”

“I was able to catch some of the details of it before they left,” Iwaizumi says. “Her daughter said she was in a trance-like state the day before. Apparently she left in the middle of the night. They found her scarf on the edge of the forest.”

Hanamaki runs his hand over his face, covering it as he shakes his head.  Silence pulls the atmosphere of the tavern tense as the four struggle to find anything to stay, as Hinata struggles to keep his desire to do _something_ suppressed. He can’t help— not like this, not yet. That conclusion stirs every anxiety in his stomach, flutters fears into his chest that are only stamped down when Iwaizumi stands back up and picks up the bag.

“We can figure out what to do later. I’ll make dinner tonight,” he announces. He looks back towards Hinata, offering a gentle smile. Hinata smiles back, lips pulled a bit too tight to pass as relaxed.

“Like hell you will,” Hanamaki pipes up, dropping his hand. “You’re the guest. Sit your ass down and take a break.” He walks over and holds out his hand, waiting for Iwaizumi to huff and hand him the bag before heading back behind the bar to get to work.

Matsukawa hums, collecting the playing cards into a deck and shuffling them. “C’mon, we can play. Hinata, pull up a chair,” he says. “We’ll see if you can beat me.”

“But I only have one arm I can use,” Hinata says, already walking over.

Matsukawa grins. “That makes my job easier.”

Iwaizumi pulls Hinata out a chair. “We’ll just team up, then,” he says, turning to Hinata as he plops down on the chair. “Does that work?”

Hinata swallows the lingering fears, pushes them back down into his stomach and nods. “Yeah,” he tells him, watching as Iwaizumi collects the cards Matsukawa deals out. All that matters now is taking his mind off of the things he can’t change, no matter how small that fact makes him feel. For tonight, the most he can do is wait, heal, and hope. He pulls his mind from his twisting thoughts and focuses on Iwaizumi pressed next to him, showing their hand and shuffling the cards around. For now, he waits. For now, he’ll be okay.

—

With every passing day, Hinata’s arms begin to feel less and less pain, until his right is moveable. It’s still tender, still bandaged, but no longer is a rigid fixture at his side. The pain shoots through him only at night, when his thoughts run too far and his mind gets the best of him, or when his serum grows thin and time grows closer to take more. The bottles of potion are mostly empty, and Hinata feels confident that every small heal he does will bring him closer to wellness once again.

He’s in his and Iwaizumi’s room, flipping through the Book of Monsters as Iwaizumi works on the dagger. He’s polishing it now, back turned to Hinata so that he can only hear the soft noises of him working away and not see the product. When Hinata flips the page, that noise stops, the other bed creaking softly as Iwaizumi stands off of it. Hinata looks over his way in time to see him turn to face him, smile set with pride, hands holding either end of the fang-dagger.

“It’s finished,” he says, walking around to Hinata. He sits beside him, causing Hinata’s own bed to dip with his added weight as he holds out the dagger with both hands. “What do you think?”

Hinata slams the Book of Monsters shut, looking down at the weapon with wonder-filled eyes. It’s hooked just as the tooth was originally, its original point sharpened and gleaming in the late morning sun. Along the hilt are cross hatched lines that create intricate geometric grooves that flow along the hilt before stopping where the blade starts. It’s all the same polish pearl white shade, not dulled by age or plaque or Iwaizumi’s work, completely immaculate in appearance and design. Hinata looks up to Iwaizumi, grinning with excitement as he reaches with his left to grab it by the hilt. It’s weighted many times less than the tooth was before, but commands a presence in Hinata’s hand, balanced so that as he holds it out, his wrist doesn’t feel strained or weakened.

“It’s amazing,” Hinata breathes, holding it up to the sunlight that pours through the open window.

“It’s for you,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Hinata’s eyes widen. “Wh—what? But _you_ warded the Leviathan off, _you_ deserve it!” Hinata protests, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he thrusts the dagger hilt first at Iwaizumi to take.

“It was always for you,” Iwaizumi replies, voice firm, eyes fixed on Hinata as he pushes his hands back. “You protected the village with your shield, and you blinded the Leviathan. We did it together. This was always going to be for you.”

“But— why?” Hinata asks, lowering his head, sheepish and shy. He lets his hands fall to his lap, the blade lying along his thighs.

“I said I would train you to fight, didn’t I?” Iwaizumi asks, eyes shining. “And you need a suitable weapon for that.”

“But this is—”

“A weapon suitable for the White Mage,” Iwaizumi says. “For _you,_ Shouyou.”

Hinata sputters a few times, trying to come up with some kind of retort and failing as Iwaizumi’s hand falls onto his. He squeezes it, causing Hinata to look up, mouth falling open in time to see Iwaizumi’s slit pupils widen, shoulders softening on an exhale. Taking a deep breath of his own, Hinata steadies himself, grip tightening around the hilt of the— _his—_ dagger.

“Thank you,” he tells him, because it’s the only thing he can say. “I’m… thank you, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi accepts his thanks with a widening smile, waiting a beat before slipping his hand off of Hinata’s, the areas where calloused palm meets scales dragging along his skin for just a moment as he leans back. “I can start teaching you tomorrow, if you’d like. How’s your arm?”

Hinata lifts his right arm, flexing his fingers and feeling a small twinge of pain as he does. “It’s better,” he says. “But my left is all good to go!” To prove his point, he pumps up his left arm in an exaggerated manner, holding the dagger high above his head. Excitement floods his veins as he lowers it back down. “Do you think you can teach me now?” he asks, eyes brightening.

Iwaizumi blinks in surprise, before breaking out into a grin. He reaches forwards and ruffles Hinata’s hair, causing Hinata to break out into a laugh before standing up. “If you’re up to it, we can start whenever you want.”

“Then let’s go!” Hinata shouts, bounding to his feet. “Lead the way!”

Iwaizumi smiles, walking with Hinata back down to the tavern and out to the streets of Kyuuchi. Deep inside of him, Hinata knows that there are more than just selfless reasons to become stronger. He wants to protect those who can’t be protected, yes, but the idea of lying helpless once again, at being on the ground at another’s feet terrifies him in a way that fuels him to grow beyond the limits he once thought he couldn’t pass. The dagger in his hand is proof that Iwaizumi thinks— that he _trusts—_ he’s worthy. That alone is enough to keep Hinata moving forwards, even without the desire to never again be helpless raging inside of his chest.

Iwaizumi leads him through Kyuuchi, far from the tavern and the houses and towards a clearing where the mountains begin to rise. The cool air of the early fall does nothing to nip at Hinata’s excitement burning inside of him as he skips beside Iwaizumi, following him until they stop at the edge of the forest. Hinata’s mind races with ideas of first lessons and new tactics, and he watches intently as Iwaizumi rolls out his shoulders and inspects their surroundings. He tilts his chin to the sky, jaw sharp and tendons in his muscles stretching.

It’s in moments like these, where the world has stilled and it’s just the two of them, where Hinata basks and admires Iwaizumi’s graceful strength, admires _Iwaizumi._ He’s oblivious to how Hinata stares, stretching out his arms in front of him. Hinata almost blushes at the sight of his strong forearms flexing, but Iwaizumi turns to face him, snapping him from his daydreams and thoughts and bringing him back to the task at hand.

“Try to land a hit on me,” Iwaizumi says. The wind whips through his cloak, sending a chill through Hinata as he furrows his brow and raises the dagger in his left hand.

“With this?” he asks, confused.

“With whatever you have on you,” Iwaizumi answers. His scales shimmer in the sunlight, blinding Hinata when the rays catch them in just the right way. Grip tightening around his dagger, he bends his knees, mimicking Iwaizumi’s stance as he circles around him, trying to figure out what he should do. There’s no part of him that can deny that he’s outclassed by experience and physical build. With years of training and dragon blood in his veins, Iwaizumi would have him beat in a real fight, but this isn’t that. All he needs to do is land a single hit, nothing more, nothing less.

Lunging forwards, Hinata swings his arm towards Iwaizumi’s bicep, dagger flying through air as Iwaizumi leans to the side effortlessly. Hinata blinks, skidding slightly before moving again to slash at Iwaizumi’s chest. Iwaizumi steps back and dodges, practiced and quick enough that Hinata is unable to process it before having a hand press against his stomach, causing him to freeze. He looks down at Iwaizumi’s hand, at the sharpened nails, before looking up in confusion.

“If I were to use my full strength, you’d be flying,” he explains. “You’ve got good instincts, but it’s obvious you’ve never fought with a weapon before.” He steps forward, rolling out his shoulder. “You need to engage your wrist when you’re fighting. You tend to let the weight of the knife tilt your hand at awkward angles— it’ll end up hurting you if you’re not careful.” He lifts Hinata’s left hand, positioning it so that his wrist is in line, so that his fingers have a firm grip on the dagger. “Try again, but this time work on keeping your muscles tight and ready to go. I’ll make the first move, but I’ll move slow enough that you can react.”

Hinata gulps as Iwaizumi steps away, doing his best to remain tight as Iwaizumi instructed. On one hand, he wants to be offended that Iwaizumi is holding back, but his logical mind reminds him that Iwaizumi could easily overpower him if he isn’t careful. Iwaizumi raises his fists, eyes narrowing before he pounces with enough speed that Hinata has to wonder if he really is holding back.

It’s difficult work, what with no experience and one arm still healing. Iwaizumi never targets his right, but doesn't hold back with near punches and hits, stopping right before he hits and repeating the motion slowly, giving Hinata time to counter. Most of the day is spent like that, in slow paced pseudo-sparring, Iwaizumi with his bare fists, Hinata with his dagger.

They bounce between real-time fighting and overexaggerated moves, Hinata repeating his reaction until it’s perfected at that speed before moving faster and faster. He’s a quick learner, but fighting is _hard,_  and even when holding back, Iwaizumi’s motions seem real enough to make him stay on guard. Iwaizumi trains him until the sky is darkening with the speckled ink of night. Even after a day of fighting, Hinata is reluctant to sit down, to relax, to stop in any way. But Iwaizumi asks and Hinata knows he knows best in these situations, knows Iwaizumi is the mentor and he is the trainee, so he listens, just like he does during his lessons.

The next day sees him twirling the dagger in his left hand to become familiar with moving the blade. More times than not it ends up clattering onto the ground, Hinata’s left hand dexterity not yet up to par. Some days find him grappling with Iwaizumi, working on one-handed holds and breaking out of Iwaizumi’s grasp. He has the gift of natural speed and observation that makes dodging easier, but Iwaizumi counters with honed practice that sharpens his counterattacks. For him, this is second nature, and all Hinata can do is watch and mimic.

It’s difficult, what with his right arm still aching as a reminder that it isn’t yet fully healed, but Hinata can’t hold back— not now, not after all he’s been through. Every time he ends up on the ground he springs back up, ignoring the pain and pushing through.  Iwaizumi shows him where to hit, the spots of the body where his dagger will deal the most damage, ways to evade larger opponents and how to throw a proper punch.

When he isn’t sparring, he’s holding the dagger, twirling it and doing his best not to mark up the interior of Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s tavern. The two watch him with careful eyes, taking curious glances at the blade. Hinata looks towards them quizzically, only for the dagger to slip from his hand and plummet to the ground. Before it can hit the floor, Matsukawa snatches it, leaning back over the bar to examine the weapon.

“What’s this?” he asks, turning it over in his hands. “You didn’t have this when you got here, didn’t you?”

“I didn't! Hajime made it out of a fang he found on the beach in Koneko,” Hinata tells them.

Hanamaki leans over, tracing over the edge and poking the tip with his finger. He winces, pulling it away and shaking out his hand. Matsukawa sets the knife down on the counter, shaking his head fondly as he grabs Hanamaki's hand, raising it to his lips to kiss the fingertip before putting it in his mouth. His cheeks hollow as he sucks on the wound, earning a smirk from Hanamaki and Hinata a feverish blush as he averts his eyes, taking back the blade and tucking it away.

Hinata doesn’t have to suffer much longer before the front door pushes open, Iwaizumi arriving once more with another basket of groceries. Hinata lights up, half happy to see him, half excited for a distraction from whatever is happening behind him.

“Hajime!” he exclaims, raising his right hand to wave. It’s become well enough to move around, no longer wound in bandages. The bruising has faded, leaving only scratches and scars behind, a small comfort Hinata takes victory in. “Hajime, I think I can use my right arm now! Can we try training with both arms today?”

At hearing his name, Iwaizumi looks up, offering a smile as he walks towards him. His scales ripple to cover his skin as he steps inside, setting the basket of goods onto the counter behind Hinata. “Sure, Shouyou, if you think you’re ready,” he replies. He reaches into his pocket, tossing Hinata a small pouch. “I got you a sheath for your dagger.”

“Thank you!” Hinata says, jumping up as he grabs his hat off the counter. “I’ll meet you outside then!”

He’s out the door in a matter of seconds, only looking back to flash Iwaizumi one last grin before slipping outside. Not having moved from their promiscuous position, Hanamaki and Matsukawa raise their brows, garnering Iwaizumi’s attention now that Hinata has left. He scowls at their reaction, narrowing his eyes in slight confusion.

“You two sure have progressed,” Hanamaki teases, tongue caught between teeth as he smirks.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi grumbles, smacking his shoulder. “And what the hell are you two doing?”

Hanamaki pulls his finger from Matsukawa’s mouth as Matsukawa grins. “Do you really want to know?”

Iwaizumi groans, rubbing his face. “No,” he tells them. “I really don’t.”

—

Strength returns to Hinata in small ways. He can cope with the dull throb that still resonates in his bones, merely takes the last few sips of potions that he has left as his upper body mobility returns to him. His sleep becomes less and less disrupted, nightmares stifled and quieted back into sleep. More than anything, it’s freeing to move on his own accord, to reach and touch and move without fear of crippling pain or exhaustion. That extends to helping out around the tavern and, of course, to his daily spars with Iwaizumi.

They’ve started moving faster now, Iwaizumi’s hits landing with a little more force than before. They’re not enough to cause bruising, let alone any real damage, but more than once he’s sent Hinata tumbling back or sliding with the force of a shove. Today is a bit different. Iwaizumi carries out a long broom, carefully unscrewing the top portion so that the head is no longer attached. He holds out the broomstick at arm’s length, tossing it a few times experimentally while Hinata watches, curious.

“You have your staff, right?” Iwaizumi asks him, holding the broomstick vertically.

Hinata nods, raising it in his right hand. “Yep! Do you want me to use magic today?” he asks, shifting from foot to foot.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, a small smile at play on his lips. “No. I want you to fight me with it,” he tells him. “I’ll use this, you use your dagger and staff.”

Hinata blinks in surprise, before tilting his head. “Geh? What do you mean?” He looks down at his staff, then back up at Iwaizumi. “It’s my magical item, not a weapon!”

Iwaizumi looks him dead in the eye. “Anything Tanaka Saeko makes is a weapon. It won’t break— trust me on that,” he tells him. “Whenever you’re ready, we can start.”

Hinata takes a deep breath to steady himself, planting his feet into the ground as he pulls out his dagger with his left. He’s not sure how exactly to fight with a staff, but by now he’s learned that Iwaizumi prefers to teach through trial, error, and repetition, so he resigns to throwing himself into the spar using his gut as a set of guidelines. This is the first time Iwaizumi has fought him using a weapon of any kind, and although it isn’t his signature sword, Hinata doesn’t doubt that a whack from the broomstick would hurt.

Hinata swings his dagger towards Iwaizumi’s left, only to be instantly met with the broomstick instead. The dagger slashes through it like butter, leaving a deep gash that Iwaizumi pays no mind to, beginning to circle Hinata with the broomstick held in two hands.

“If you’re playing offensive with your dagger, always use your staff for defense,” he tells him, lunging forwards towards Hinata’s right. Hinata reaches over with his staff to meet the broomstick, gritting his teeth as Iwaizumi pushes down for a few moments before backing off. “Get used to turning in these sorts of fights. Be creative and do your best to overwhelm me.”

Hinata huffs, holding himself back from mumbling _as if that’s possible._ The second he nods, Iwaizumi is back on the offensive, landing a solid strike to his thigh that reminds Hinata of his strength. He jumps back, ducking as the Iwaizumi spins the broomstick, and aims his dagger for Iwaizumi’s thigh. The blade catches on the outside of his trousers, but the two have enough joint momentum that his aim was off, leaving him to jump back and block before Iwaizumi strikes again.

It continues like that, countering instead of dodging, twisting himself in odd ways to try and attack and doing his best to stay on his feet. Overwhelming Iwaizumi is a task he doesn’t quite succeed in, but by the time the sun has reached its peak in the sky, Hinata’s blade has grazed Iwaizumi’s arm. It bleeds slightly, a sight Hinata isn’t sure he’s seen before— definitely not while Iwaizumi was coated in scales. They quickly knit together and stop the shallow cut, but Iwaizumi beams at him in pride either way.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a blade cut you,” Hinata tells him, taking a swig of iced tea Matsukawa and Hanamaki dropped off. Despite the wind and the cooling temperatures, the sun of fall is still reminiscent of summer in its brightness, beaming down at the two and leaving Hinata parched.

Iwaizumi wipes the back of his mouth, setting his own glass down. “That blade isn’t any old blade,” he tells him. “It’s not as strong as my sword, but it definitely beats it in terms of sheer sharpness.”

Hinata’s mouth falls open as he looks down at his dagger and back up to Iwaizumi in excitement, the pride at being given such a powerful weapon as a gift still leaving remnants of happiness to flow through him at the most opportune times. He squeezes the hilt, grinning to himself, oblivious of how Iwaizumi watches him with much the same expression.

“C’mon,” Iwaizumi finally says, setting down his glass. “Let’s something a little different. Put away your dagger.”

Slightly confused, Hinata follows through, tucking the dagger away as he walks back out into the clearing, Iwaizumi slow behind him. “So, what’s the plan?” he asks, swinging his staff back and forth as he turns around, only for Iwaizumi to be nowhere in sight. Panic spiking, he spins a hundred and eighty degrees to see Iwaizumi behind him, thirty feet away stretching out his arms.

“I’m going to rush at you, and you have to defend yourself,” Iwaizumi calls to him.

Hinata opens his mouth to confirm, only for Iwaizumi to break out into a sprint, a blur that Hinata’s eyes can hardly catch. He’s on his butt before he knows it, Iwaizumi standing above him with a hand already extended to help him up as Hinata regains his bearings. He _knows_ Iwaizumi can move fast, but knowing, seeing, and experiencing are completely different things, one of which Hinata wasn’t expecting to deal with so soon.

“React, follow, block, counter,” Iwaizumi tells him as he helps him off the ground.

“Mhm!” Hinata replies, dusting off his pants as Iwaizumi backs up a respectable difference. This time, Hinata knows what’s coming, watches for the tension of Iwaizumi’s muscles before reaching for his dagger and whipping it out. Unfortunately, he’s too late to block, Iwaizumi freezing on his left with a hand fixed at his side, claws extended and sharp.

“Block with your staff rather than with your dagger,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Ideally, you’d unsheathe your dagger the moment you block your opponent, and _then_ you attack with your dagger.”

It takes another five tries for Hinata to get any kind of headway. It isn’t as if he’s bombing each try— after every reset, he takes away a new lesson, a new goal to work on and another piece of the puzzle to add to the rest. This time, though, everything _clicks_ . Following Iwaizumi’s movements is a hurdle Hinata has yet to overcome, but when he sees a flash of green towards his left, he tosses his staff to his left hand, right reaching for his sheathed dagger as the butt of the staff connects with Iwaizumi’s chest to keep him at bay. Hinata holds his dagger at the ready as he jumps back, spinning his staff as a grin spreads ear to ear at _finally_ landing a strike.

Iwaizumi chuckles, rolling out his shoulder. “You learn fast,” he comments, getting back into his fighting stance. Hinata swells, about to thank him for the praise when Iwaizumi darts forwards again, immersing him once again at the task at hand.

The continue on like that as the sun dances through the sky, growing larger and heavier as it begins to set, cascading vibrant shades of orange over the town. They keep up their sparring, Iwaizumi bringing back the broomstick whenever Hinata begins to get the hang of things just to make it harder, sharpening his reaction time and creativity all at once. They only stop when the sky tints purple, dusk overhead, Hinata sweating and panting, warming himself from the inside out. His stomach bubbles with joy at a day well spent as Iwaizumi gathers their things.

“Let’s head back— you must be starved,” Iwaizumi says, reassembling the broom.

Ignoring the grumble of his stomach, Hinata slides up beside him. “We’re continuing tomorrow, right?” he asks, buzzing with the prospect of learning something new. Today gave him a taste of some of the strength Iwaizumi has been holding back, building excitement that leaves him ready for the day to come.

Iwaizumi grins, nodding as they walk back around to the front. “Of course. You’re really getting better— especially your reaction timing,” he says. Hinata blushes at the compliment, rubbing the back of his neck while Iwaizumi continues. “You’re quick on your feet, and followed my movements better than I expected.”

Hinata hums, looking up at the pale sky, at the half moon creeping out being the clouds. “I want to be able to keep up with you,” he tells him, looking back over to him with a smile. “That way, we can become stronger together.”

Iwaizumi blinks, sighing softly as he reaches over to tangle his hand in Hinata's hair, combing through the strands gently, a warm smile working across his face. They head back to the tavern like that, Iwaizumi, with one hand in Hinata’s hair and another holding a broom, and Hinata, with his staff and his dagger and more contentment in his heart than he’s felt in a long time.

—

After two weeks since they arrived in Kyuuchi, new faces meander into the bar. Iwaizumi sits next to him on one of the barstools while they eat their dinner— it’s nothing too fancy, just a soup filled with beans and veggies and plenty of spice. Hinata eats as quickly as he can without slopping it over his clothes, still unable to understand how two vampires can cook so well. Hanamaki and Matsukawa let them be to tend to the other customers, putting on their charm as they approach the newcomers.

“What’ll it be, boys?” Hanamaki asks. Hinata watches over the corner of his eyes as one of them props up their hood, raindrops falling onto the ground.

“Bourbon,” he says, aloof, tossing a few coins onto the counter as he jabs his thumb towards the larger man beside him. “One for ‘im, too.”

Matsukawa busies himself selecting a bottle from the shelf, Hanamaki fetching two glasses for each patron. The men watch them with hawk-like eyes, narrowed and trained on their hands as they’re slid their drinks. Neither makes any move to take a drink, and Hinata looks away, stomach churning.

“So, how’re things in town?” Hanamaki asks casually, leaning one elbow onto the bar.

The larger man makes a gruff sound unintelligible to Hinata, the other picking up his glass only to swirl it around. “You don’t get out much, it seems,” he says, sounding almost bored.

“Eh, seen this town, know it well. We’ve got guests, no need to leave,” Hanamaki replies. Matsukawa flicks his gaze towards Iwaizumi, catching his gaze and holding it. Hinata looks between the two, furrowing his brow at the silent conversation as his spoon pauses on its way to his mouth. The men notice Matsukawa’s gaze and follow it, eyeing Iwaizumi and Hinata from across the bar with the same amount of unease. Hinata catches glance of a scar across the larger’s face just as he turns to murmur something to his companion. Hinata goes back to eating his food, slower, carefully, noting how Iwaizumi shifts in his seat and pushes his plate away.

“A dead body showed up,” the hooded man says, causing Hinata’s shoulders to tighten, his thoughts to pause. “Covered in bite marks, face ripped out, the works.”

Silence falls over the tavern as Hinata looks back up to Iwaizumi, only to see his eyes trained towards the strangers. A pit of dread carves itself into his chest as the hooded stranger’s grip tightens around his glass.

“Gods,” Matsukawa mumbles after a few moments, breaking the terse silence.

“You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” the larger man questions, downing his drink in one motion.

“‘Fraid not,” Hanamaki sighs. “Was wondering if—”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish, the hooded man throwing his glass straight towards him. In the split second it takes for the glass to shatter, Hanamaki steps out of the way, letting the glass hit the wall while the larger man pulls out a knife and hurls it square at Matsukawa’s chest. Matsukawa catches it with ease just as the larger man leans over the bar to grab Hanamaki, missing with gross incompetence but managing to knock over a few freshly washed glasses onto the ground. Before either can do anything else, Iwaizumi has sprung from his seat, gripping both men by the backs of their necks and pushing them down so that their bodies smack into the bar, holding them there. They both wheeze at the force exerted, struggling in vain against Iwaizumi’s grip.

“You fucking _murderers!”_ the hooded figure seethes, spitting onto the bar.

“Watch your tone,” Matsukawa warns them.

“You’re the ones who came here and started throwing punches,” Hanamaki adds.

Hinata watches, frozen in place, heart thumping in his ears. All he can think about is the glass shattering on the ground, the fury behind eyes clouded by shadows and the glint of the knife held loosely in Matsukawa’s hand. Fear clutches his body as he braces for _something,_ flinching when the hooded figure struggles against Iwaizumi’s grasp again.

“What the hell are _you_ two doing here, then?” he spits. “Royal Order Knight and the _White Mage_ cozying it up with vampires— if I didn’t know better—”

“Which you don’t,” Matsukawa interrupts.

“We know enough,” he says, struggling once more. “You half-bred monsters are here sitting all pretty, killing this town one by one— don’t act like you aren’t. We’re here to teach you a lesson!”

Hinata gulps, the man’s cry enough to send a shudder up his spine. His arm throbs, throat tightening as Iwaizumi sighs, ragged and irritated, and pushes harder on the struggling man.

“You’re in no place to question anything now,” he tells him. “Neither of you are. Did you think about investigating at all?”

“Or did you play the blame-game with a roulette wheel?” Hanamaki asks dryly. “Because it kinda feels like the latter.”

The hooded man sneers, tearing his eyes away from Hanamaki to stare Hinata down. Aware that he’s been noticed, Hinata’s heart rate skyrockets, surpassing his hitched breath and shaking hands as the pain in his chest intensifies.

“I thought the White Mage fought monsters,” the man growls. “I grew up here, and the only monsters I ever met were the ones behind this bar.”

Hinata blinks, swallowing thickly. “Y—you’ve never seen a monster,” he whispers. “Don’t— just _don’t.”_

“I’m done with this,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “You can either get the hell out and drop the vigilante act or stay here. The Royal Order’s tactical division will pass through here in a week’s time on their way back to Senshi. I’m sure they they’ll find room for two more criminals.”

“Criminals?!” one of them shouts. “What—”

“Attempted murder isn’t to be taken lightly,” Iwaizumi reminds him. “I’m going to let you up and let you make your choice. Remember that if you try anything, that choice will be made for you.”

With that, he pulls the two up by their scruffs and pushes them back, letting them go. The larger one winces, rubbing his shoulder and already heading for the door, while the other man glowers, still glaring at Matsukawa.

“What?” Matsukawa asks. He’s still holding onto the man’s knife, twirling it idly in one hand.

“My knife,” the man demands, holding out his hand.

Matsukawa hums, disinterested as he turns away. “You broke my shit and wasted good liquor. Call it payment and scram.”

The man grits his teeth, eyeing Matsukawa up and down before spitting once more onto the ground. He turns on his heels and pushes past his companion, who shuts the door behind them with enough force to echo throughout the tavern. With the bar now empty of customers and threats, Iwaizumi lets his posture drop, scales rippling to turn brown skin green. Hanamaki just groans, rubbing his eyes before heading to fetch a broom.

The silence left in the wake of the scuffle strangles any lingering comfort Hinata could’ve felt. His stomach churns, eyes fixated on the door. Any moment, the two could return and try to hurt Matsukawa and Hanamaki again. They could’ve been a moment quicker and hurt them, could still spread rumour throughout the town. Hinata isn’t sure if that is what leaves him frozen in place, or if it was the sheer loathing in the hooded man’s eyes while he spat at Hanamaki and Matsukawa. It doesn’t matter— he’s left with silent tears cooling his cheeks and a heartbeat racing too fast for him to comprehend.

“W—why’d—” Hinata stutters, trying to regains composure before any of the three realize his state of distress. He takes a deep breath in attempt to centre himself, listening to the careful scrape of glass against the wood floor. “Why’d they do that?”

Matsukawa follows Hinata’s gaze towards the door. “Things must’ve gotten worse.”

“I’m checking things out come morning,” Iwaizumi states, voice firm. “People are dying and you’re both being threatened.”

“Iwaizumi—” Hanamaki starts, but is cut off by a pointed glance.

“I can get permission to see the body as a member of the Royal Order and figure out what’s causing this from there,” he says. “It’s what’s best.”

Hinata wants to agree, wants to chime in with all of his usual glee and exuberance. His throat proves too tight to speak, and his head spins before he can formulate any thought besides hatred in doubled eyes, besides brute strength and voices with an undercurrent of poison that can’t be washed out.

Matsukawa hums, nodding. “I’ll take your word on it then.”

Hanamaki huffs, but agrees with a nod of his head, dumping the shards of glass into a bin. Iwaizumi shifts his gaze to Hinata, mouth half-open to speak, and pauses, the action noticeable enough for Hinata to reanimate out of fear that he may worry Iwaizumi. Hinata smiles, aware that nothing can be done about the glimmer of tears under his eyes or the uncontrollable tremor in his hands.

“I— I can sense for dark magic if you think there might be any,” he offers, half of his heart withering at the idea of someone manipulating that darkness again. Iwaizumi studies him for a moment, thinking, before taking a step closer and quieting his voice.

“If you want to come, you can,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You know I’ll never say no to your help, Shouyou.”

Hinata’s heart stutters at the use of his given name, unused to hearing it sound from Iwaizumi’s mouth. His face heats up as he nods, swallowing with a tightened throat. “If you’re just looking around, I—I’ll stay back,” he tells him, trying not to feel shame at how his muscles relax. “I... I want to be stronger when we face whatever this is.”

 _I thought I was getting better,_ Hinata thinks to himself, heart sinking, body aching.

Iwaizumi’s furrowed brow softens, his hand reaching over to tousle Hinata’s hair with much less force than previous times, as if to rub his head rather than frazzle his hair. The touch is one Hinata finds himself leaning into, shoulders dropping as Iwaizumi’s hand slips from his hair to fall by his side once more, mouth barely tilted and eyes bright. Hinata looks back towards the door, a spark of determination lighting within as light shines through the cracks.

 _I need to be stronger,_ he tells himself. _I can be stronger._

—

The restlessness begins to settle into his bones about the same time that Iwaizumi leaves the next day. Even now, with both arms healed, phantom pain strikes them whenever he moves too quickly. It’s best not to think about it, to simply stare at the curtains in the late afternoon and watch them rustle with the breath of the cool breeze. His chin rests on the sill of the window in his room, the cool of the wood chilling his flushed cheeks.  Outside, the sun doesn’t shine, clouds drifting heavy in the sky to block all of the light.

He wonders if Oikawa does this, too— if he gazes from his tower as he does in all of his visions, watching the world below. Does he watch the clouds? Does he count the spaces between the stars? Or does he block it all out and simmer in darkness, view what he needs to see from that ball of crystal and transport on will? Hinata’s heart flutters at the memory of his eyes, deep and brown and shining in the lights of Koneko’s forest. It twists, tightening at the darkness that comes with his anger in the aftermath of the Moonstone Cave.

Both times, he had disappeared as quickly as he came, a cloud of smoke fading him in and out of existence. Hinata has only ever seen that happen once before— the oracle, back when he visited Hinata in Shiratori. Both of them appeared and left without a trace, as if they could vanish into the air around them. Hinata never knew anything of the sort was possible, assumed that was a kind of thing reserved for gods or story books dreaming of what people may one day achieve.

But Oikawa was too real to be a projection, to be anything less than real, than touchable, than _there._ The presence of another person can’t be emulated by any projection that Hinata’s ever heard of, and there was no explanation for the heat of his fire besides him being there. Oikawa was real, and so was his anguish and his bittersweet smiles, his fury and his pain.

He’s snapped from his daydream when the door to his room is opened with a few useless knocks thrown in. He turns around, wondering what Iwaizumi is doing back so soon only to see Matsukawa leaning against the frame.

“Yo,” he says, raising one hand. “It’s dead downstairs— you wanna learn a few tricks?”

Hinata shuts down the lingering images of Oikawa, nodding quickly and chasing the excitement that comes alongside doing magic. “Sure!” he says, reaching over to grab his staff and following Matsukawa and his smug smile back down the stairs. Hanamaki waits at the bottom, wearing a sleeveless shirt and an extravagant cape that Hinata thinks may not be quite in season for the crisp breeze outdoors. Compared to his long sleeved tunic and cozy cape, both Hanamaki and Matsukawa seem underdressed. Neither seem to mind, throwing their arms over Hinata’s shoulders and leading him to the same courtyard area where he and Iwaizumi were training before.

“You probably won’t be needing that staff,” Hanamaki comments as they arrive. “All of our techniques are done without one.”

Hinata nods, buzzing with excitement as he sets his staff down. “Can you teach me that weird illusion thing?” he asks, looking over at Matsukawa. “With all the different selves and stuff?”

“Lame!” Hanamaki shouts, catching Hinata off guard as he appears beside him. “Lets do my fire trick first.”

“Best for last?” Matsukawa asks, earning him a smack on the arm as Hanamaki bumps him out of the way. Hinata stifles a laugh, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and holding out his hands.

“So how do I do it?” Hinata asks, wiggling his fingers.

“Show me your normal flame first,” Hanamaki tells him. “A normal, simple, everyday flame.”

Hinata instantly summons two balls of white hot flame to hover above his hands, crackling and swaying slightly in the wind. Hanamaki’s eyes widen in surprise, Matsukawa whistling as he looks over.

“Well would you look at that,” Matsukawa says.

“Ah, it’s always been like this,” Hinata says, a bit shy at their awed looks.

“I mean, it makes sense, since you’re the White Mage in all. It shouldn’t change anything,” Hanamaki tells him. He holds out his own hands in front of Hinata, sparking his own ruby red flame to his hands. “We’ll start small, because Iwaizumi will stake me if you end up getting hurt. Let’s start with one finger.”

Hinata watches as a thin film covers Hanamaki’s pointer finger, shining gold before becoming invisible. “You have to create a strong but thin shield around the area,” he tells him. “Instead of imagining that you’re lighting the Fog on fire, imagine that you’re lighting the shield you just made on fire, and the Fog is fuel you just poured all over yourself.”

Hanamaki’s pointer finger suddenly becomes coated in flame, the rest of his fingers splayed wide as not to touch the fire. “It’s best if you put a shield around your other fingers while you’re learning,” he suggests.

Hinata nods, concentrating on the index finger of his left hand. Carefully, he coats his finger in a skin tight shield, doing his best to keep it steady. Once he’s sure there’s no gaps, he bites his lip and sparks a flame onto the shield, nearly jumping back at the sensation of heat and the bright light produced. It’s much larger than he expected it to be, flaring up as he panics. Quickly, he lessens the intensity, calming down until the white flame has settled small enough to make sense for a single finger.

“Good, good!” Hanamaki says. “Just get used to the feeling of it for a little bit before growing the flame— oh!”

The fire spreads across Hinata’s whole hand, flickering and spreading heat through his veins. “Like this?” Hinata asks, waving his hand through the air. Even with the protective shield, the fire feels _strange._  Hinata turns his hand over to stare at his palm, the fire spread evenly rather than nestled in his hand. He feels— dangerous, yes but— _cool._

“Can you make the fire stronger?” Hanamaki asks him. “The trick is to keep your shield thin, but much more protective. It’ll flare up though, so be warned.”

“Careful not to burn down the whole town,” Matsukawa comments, taking a seat on a nearby stump.

“I won’t!” Hinata exclaims, tossing a smile over his shoulder. He looks back down at his flaming hand, focusing on the shield that coats his skin. He imagines weaving it tighter, stronger, and watches with awe as the fire begins to rise and heat his skin. It’s hot enough to warm him, but not enough so to burn, his skin protected whilst simultaneously becoming a weapon in itself.

“Huh, you really got the hang of that,” Hanamaki says. “Alright then. Come at me.”

Hinata stands dumbfounded for a moment before realizing that Hanamaki is serious. Unlike Iwaizumi, he doesn’t slip into a practiced stance: he stands casual, back tall, weight shifted onto one foot, brow quirked as if to say _well, are you gonna move, or what?_

Smiling, Hinata steps forwards, jumping towards Hanamaki with his flaming hand splayed. Hanamaki laughs, leaning back with skilled ease and smacking a hand on his back, causing Hinata to stumble forwards, but not without whipping around and expelling a jet of flame towards him. Hanamaki ducks out of the way of the attack, a smirk easing its way across his face.

“Wow, that training with Iwaizumi sure paid off,” he says. “But I’ve been kicking around for long enough that a trick like _that_ won’t surprise me.”

Hinata huffs, rolling up his sleeve in precaution. He hasn’t got his staff on him, and Hanamaki is _fast—_ to dodge, to analyze, to attack— not to mention a _vampire._ For show or otherwise, his fangs gleam, poking from his lips to hint at the whole other level of power he’s yet to bring to the table.

Fighting him, understandably, is difficult. Hinata’s small frame, which usually gives him a leg up against monsters and the like, is countered by Hanamaki’s ability to read him. With one hand in flame, Hinata pulls out his dagger and extends it, using it to attack and leaving the fire as defense. He manages to nick Hanamaki a few times, tearing at his clothes and opening his skin to allow dark blood to trickle down, but it hardly makes a difference to him. Hinata jumps backwards, using a gust of wind to give himself a boost and put distance between them to catch his breath.

“Boo,” Hanamaki teases, wiping the blood from his arm. “C’mon, you’ve got to have another idea knocking around in that cute head of yours!”

Hinata rolls out his shoulder, biting the inside of his cheek. Suddenly, the ground below Hanamaki cracks, earth splitting open and crumbling. He jumps with another laugh, landing down on his feet only for the ground there to rumble and coat his feet. He breaks free, shaking his head.

“Didn’t see that coming,” he says, shifting midair to avoid Hinata’s flaming hand which reaches to grab his leg. The small shift from offence to defence sparks excitement in Hinata’s chest as he tosses the dagger right where Hanamaki should land. In the seconds that follow, everything slows. Hinata watches as Hanamaki contorts and flips over his head, Hinata’s dagger missing him completely while he leaves Hinata’s sight. Before he can turn to face him, hands plant themselves on his shoulders, and Hanamaki, for the second time, buries his face into Hinata’s neck.

“Checkmate,” he murmurs, breath fanning onto Hinata’s skin. Hinata swallows audibly, a shaky, heavy sigh leaving him.

“Hm?” Hanamaki hums, fingers walking up his arm. “I hope you don’t _like_ losing…”

“I— I don’t!” Hinata sputters, glancing over towards Matsukawa, who looks up from his nails to grin. Heat spreads across his cheeks as he drops his flame, flustered and warm enough from sheer embarrassment. “I’m actually very upset!” he squeaks.

Hanamaki’s cheek brushes up his neck. “You don’t seem upset at all, Hinata,” he coos. “If I were to guess, I’d say you’re _enjoying_ it.”

Hinata’s shoulders relax, dropping as he subconsciously tilts his head to expose his neck. A rush falls over him, familiar, somehow, but not unwelcome, spreading through him slowly the same way that the heat from the flame did. Hanamaki’s lips brush his jaw at the same time Hinata’s eyes flutter closed, fully content with how Hanamaki’s teeth brush against his skin. Something in him worries, _nags,_ that he should probably push him off, but a bigger part of him pulls back, itches to lean into the touch and—

He doesn’t have time to enjoy anything more, it seems, because in a second, he’s swiftly knocked onto the ground, Hanamaki standing smugly above him with one hand on his hip. As the daze leaves Hinata, so does the buzz, making way for a new wave of embarrassment as well as frustration as Hanamaki grins.

“Take that as a lesson not to let your guard down,” Hanamaki tells him. “And not to let you enemy seduce you.”

“S-seduce— you weren’t seducing me!” Hinata sputters, scrambling to his feet.

“Oh, he was!” Matsukawa calls.

“Oh, I was,” Hanamaki reiterates.

Matsukawa hops off the stump and approaches them with a smirk as he leans up against Hanamaki, Hinata groaning with his face in his hands, shielding him from any further embarrassment. “Oi, do you wanna know how to wipe this motherfucker’s smile away?” Matsukawa asks. Hinata spreads his fingers, peeking through to catch a glimpse of Matsukawa’s amused expression.

“You’re smiling too,” he grumbles, dropping his hands and doing his best to suppress the budding excitement in him.

“And?” Matsukawa bumps his hip against Hanamaki, extending Hinata a hand. “You know you want to.”

In the end, Hinata takes his hand if only because the desire to learn how Matsukawa creates copies of himself outweighs the shame and blush on his cheeks. He shoots Hanamaki a half-hearted glare as Matsukawa helps him up that is returned with hooded eyes before the vampire takes Matsukawa’s spot on the stump to watch as they train.

“Jump up and down,” Matsukawa commands.

“Geh?” Hinata exclaims. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Matsukawa shrugs. “Just do it and I’ll tell you.”

Confused and curious, Hinata follows his command, jumping once before tilting his head. “Is that all?”

“Did you feel anything?” Matsukawa asks.

“Feel what?”

“Anything at all,” Matsukawa tells him. “The wind as you move, the drag of your cape, the stretch of your muscles, the Fog pushing through and around you. You need to notice all of these things at once in order for the illusions to trick anyone.”

Hinata’s eyes widen as Matsukawa explains, beginning to circle him. As he does so, he duplicates, until Hinata is surrounded by Matsukawa's, each identical to each other. He spins around, unsure which to look at as they all stop and stare at him, until they all speak.

“Again.”

Hinata takes a deep breath, closing his eyes before leaping into the air. This time, he jumps much higher, focusing inwards on the simplest things— his cape flows out behind them, the air blows cold on his face, but the Fog—

“How do you process all of that at once?” Hinata asks, eyebrows furrowing in frustration as his feet hit the ground.

They both shrug, each one leaning to the left slightly. “Practice. Forget about the easy stuff you can feel. Search for what you can’t.”

Again, Hinata shuts his eyes, leaping up into the air. He repeats it again and again, feeling the split second of suspension the lightness of his hair, and faintly, if he _really_ focuses, the Fog. The next time he jumps, he hones in on it, feels the air around him as if he were searching for a curse, and feels it all around him, rushing through him and flowing out.

When he opens his eyes, Matsukawa is standing in front of him— singular, still— grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “Did you feel it that time?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

Hinata still nods, determination growing with every passing second. “So, now what?”

“More introspection,” Matsukawa answers. “When you make clones of yourself, they aren’t going to be for fighting. Anyone could realize that they’re fake the moment their sword goes right through.” He waves his hand in front of Hinata’s face, causing him to startle as a thousand other hands trail behind it. Suddenly, Matsukawa flicks his ear, startling Hinata enough that he yelps. “It’s for distraction. Got that?” Hinata nods. “Good. The more you practice, the easier processing will come. Eventually you’ll be able to do it without needing to think about it too hard.”

“But why do I need to?” he asks. His leg has begun to bounce in anticipation, ready to _try_ something rather than go through explanations and processes.

“Because a puppeteer must know what strings to pull to make a doll dance,” Matsukawa says. Hinata tilts his head, and he chuckles. “The after images, the clones— they’re the same. They’re copying either your movements or movements you’ve made moments before. If you don’t know every intimate detail of yourself, you won’t be able to sustain the images, no matter your power with illusions.”

“So I need to… sense the illusions into existence?” Hinata asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Basically,” Matsukawa says. “You’re not drawing yourself from the fog. You’re imprinting on it, like a footprint, I guess. You’re colouring each motion you make in it. Think of it however you want.”

“That doesn’t help!” Hinata whines.

“Babe, you’re confusing him,” Hanamaki calls from the stump. “Hinata, you’re not making anything new. You’re just repeating what you’ve already done.”

“Repeating,” Hinata says. “Like an echo?”

“If that’s how it makes sense to you,” Matsukawa says. “Give it a shot.”

Hinata is halfway between shocked that Matsukawa already wants him to try and relieved that after all of that explanation, he gets to figure it out for himself. For better or for worse, he stares back down at his hand, waves it out in front of him ever so slowly. He focuses, _hard,_ on the air and the Fog and everything else, summoning illusions the second after he moves. To his surprise, there are a few illusionary hands that freeze where his was, four in total hanging mid air as he pauses his movement to look towards Matsukawa.

“Good,” he praises, smiling slightly. “Now, you have to control them, connect them to yourself, and keep making more.”

Hinata nods, letting the illusion fade to start again. This time, a few more are formed, but many flicker out as he tries to sync them to his movements. There are gaps where each illusion meets his real, tangible elbow, moments where one hand stutters and freezes, a thousand, small, intricate things he has to think of all at once.

“Once you can reach a hundred smooth images of just your arm, then you can try creating images as you walk,” Matsukawa says, copies forming as he speaks. “And once you can do that, then you can try and create clones from nothing, and move them at the same time as you.”

Hinata stares at him, unsure if he’s joking or not. With a grin, Matsukawa strolls over to Hanamaki and takes a seat on his lap, slinging one arm over his shoulder. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he says. “Get to practicing.”

The dawning realization that he’s serious comes a second after he nods, and hours before he manages to master one hundred images of his arm. There’s always something missing, a lag, a glitch, a break in the smoothness of the illusions. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are quick to point out any missing details from their spot in eachothers arms. They only ever get up to fetch themselves glasses of blood to sip on, and Hinata a glass of freshly squeezed juice and snacks. Hinata assumes that a few hours are nothing to beings whose lifespans stretch close to a millennia, but for him, it’s grueling despite not taking as much physical labour as any of the other training he’s done.

He’s managed ninety-some-odd perfect copies once the sun has dyed the sky orange and purple, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki have drained an entire bottle between the two of them. Hinata’s just perfecting another one of the hundred hands when Matsukawa hums and looks up at the sky and back towards Hinata, humming.

“Maybe you should rest,” he suggests. “It’s gotten late.”

“But I’m so close!” Hinata whines, waving his arm again to show Matsukawa. One of the hands still freezes, but another ninety or so move perfectly in front of him, fading as Hinata drops his arm. Even though he doesn’t _want_ to stop, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little tired, and a little hungry.

“Iwaizumi may be back by now,” Hanamaki says nonchalantly, looking down at his nails. He looks over to Hinata, grinning knowingly. “What if he has some news?”

Hinata perks up, swayed with the prospect of figuring out what happened with Iwaizumi and his investigation. With all of his training, he forgot about the mystery at hand entirely. With a sigh, he rolls out his shoulders and waves his arm once last time, watching the afterimages move and fade before looking to  Matsukawa and Hanamaki and nodding, following them back inside.

—

Iwaizumi waits inside, leaning over one of the tables with a glass of something in his hand. He’s already looking towards the door when Hinata enters, likely having heard them approach. Hinata greets him with a smile that doesn’t drop despite the weary look upon his face. It grows thin, though, and soon Hinata is at his side, Matsukawa and Hanamaki strolling not far behind.

“Was it that bad that you broke into the booze without us?” Hanamaki asks, taking a seat atop the table. Iwaizumi makes a gruff noise in reply, rubbing his face as his skin begins to coat itself in his signature green scales.

“I’ve got a strong constitution,” he mumbles, waving off Hanamaki’s half-jesting sentiment  as he takes another sip. “Just hard to stand some of this stuff, is all.”

“What happened?” Hinata asks, voice now laced with worry.

Iwaizumi sets the glass down, leaning back with a sigh. “Whatever killed that woman, whatever’s been taking those people… it isn’t any sane creature,” he tells them. “The body… wasn’t a pretty sight.”

“Any clue what kind of monster did it?” Matsukawa asks.

“I was going to ask you if you had any suspicions,” Iwaizumi says. “Really, she was so maimed that I couldn’t identify much. All we can go off of is her hypnotic-like state she was in before.”

Hinata perks up, an idea forming. “Wait here,” he tells them, holding out his hand as he dashes towards the staircase, bolting into his room to grab the thick binded book lying at his bedside. He arrives back down a few moments later, ignoring the three’s perplexed expressions as the book slams down onto the table, rattling Iwaizumi’s glass.

“The Book Of Monsters,” Matsukawa reads, raising a brow. “That’s White Mage reading material?”

“Lady Kiyoko gave it to me— it’s all of the Dark Mage’s monsters throughout the different lives,” Hinata explains, already flipping through the first few pages. “What’d the people say happened?”

“A woman came home in a trace, headed towards the woods the next night, and they found her at the foot of the mountains completely maimed— no face, torso and thighs gored,” Iwaizumi explains.

“It’s more women missing than men,” Hanamaki adds. “Around her age, too. There was never any fuss or fight left behind. They just… got up and walked away.”

“Which is why it was assumed to be us,” Matsukawa says. “Either for our charm or familiarity.”

“Charm?” Hinata asks, looking up from the pages.

Hanamaki grins. “Yeah, Hinata. Weren’t you surprised at how easy it was to get all hot and bothered the second we met?”

Hinata ducks his head back down into the book at the same time that Iwaizumi reaches over him to smack Hanamaki’s shoulder. He winces, and Hinata blushes all the way to the tips of his ears, clearing his throat as he flick through a few more pages. “A-anyways! The monster can hypnotize people, then?”

“And get around a town like this without being noticed,” Matsukawa says.

“But it’s pretty gruesome as well,” Iwaizumi finishes.

Hinata purses his lips, pausing for a moment before flipping back to the beginning. “I think— I might have something.”

He opens the page to one of the earliest entries, squinting at the faded, aged script with a sigh. “I can hardly read this, but Lady Kiyoko pointed it out when she gave me this,” Hinata says. “She called them succubi.”

“Here,” Matsukawa says, pressing up against Hinata and pulling the book closer to himself. “I can read it just fine.” He takes in a breath, and begins to read it out loud.

 

_“SUCCUBI AND INCUBI_

_MONSTERS OF THE DARK MAGE*_

_The succubi, or incubi, are demonic creatures of the Dark Mage’s making. Many appear to be humanoid, sporting legs and arms, and all are capable of using language. What sets them apart as monsters is their unique and grotesque morphs; some have a second set of arms, multiple eyes, and sport oddly pigmented skin (green, blue, etc.) All of the succubi are physically attractive, and stand out, if not for their nonhuman features, for their scantily clad bodies._

_Succubi have the ability to control a weak willed person and hypnotize them into following their bidding. Often, this involves becoming a succubi’s meal or servant. The succubus will enchant the unsuspecting victim with their human characteristics before turning on them and devouring them whole. They are noted to be ruthless killers with an insatiable appetite and a vicious protective streak. Although they seem intelligent, all are puppets of the Dark Mage’s doing, and cannot be reasoned with or “cured.” They are incredibly dangerous, nimble, and strong. Do not approach._

_Footnote:_

_*Dark Mage refers to the original incarnation.”_

 

Silence falls between the four as Matsukawa finishes reading, leaning back against Hanamaki. His husband is the first to make a noise, sighing contently.

“Wow, you reading ancient texts is really hot,” he says idly, wincing again as Iwaizumi smacks the back of his head.

“Focus,” he grumbles.

Hinata chews his lip, looking up at him. “Do you think that a succubus could’ve done it?”

“I think so,” Matsukawa says. “But Iwaizumi saw the body.”

“No, I agree. It makes the most sense with what information we have now.” He rubs a hand over his face, picking back up his drink and taking a swig. “It's probably made its nest somewhere along the mountains.”

“There aren’t any caves around here,” Hanamaki points out, and Hinata unconsciously relaxes his shoulders. “Odds are it’d be all holed up in a crevice or somewhere tight alongside the rockface.”

“Doesn’t help us find it,” Matsukawa mumbles. “I don’t think any of us make good bait.”

Hinata’s stomach knots, fear twisting with an idea that terrifies him only slightly less than the thought of not helping at all. “Y-you know, I’m small, I could probably—”

“No,” Iwaizumi says, voice decisive. “You’re more valuable detecting dark magic from the outside. Besides, I’m not affected by charms and hypnosis.”

“What— but— then what will we do?” Hinata sputters. A part of him is grateful that he doesn’t have to throw himself into the fray, but it’s devoured by guilt at even being so selfish.

Iwaizumi downs the rest of his drink, slamming it onto the table. “I’ll go.”

The shock nearly does Hinata in, while Matsukawa simply raises his dark brows. “Never thought I’d see the day Iwaizumi plays bait.”

Hanamaki shrugs. “Hey, at least he has the looks to attract it. Think the monster likes muscles and a soft heart?”

“I think it likes pleasure, pain, and gorging itself on human flesh,” Iwaizumi mutters. “We need a plan.”

Hanamaki sighs. “We have one, don’t we? Mister tall, dark, and handsome here _pretends_ to be under the succubus’ spell, Hinata makes sure it’s really a succubus through some old fashioned magic sensing, and we provide witty commentary.”

“Takahiro,” Matsukawa says, low and smooth. “I love you, but that’s godawful.”

That brings a laugh out of Iwaizumi, Hinata stifling giggles into his hand as he regains his composure. “How hard will one of these be to deal with?”

“Unless it’s crafty? I could take it alone even without my sword,” Iwaizumi says, wrinkling his nose. “But there’s too many factors.”

“Like?” Hanamaki asks.

“It’s one of the original Dark Mage’s monsters,” Matsukawa explains.

“So if it’s survived this long…” Hinata starts.

“Then it’ll put up a fight for sure,” Iwaizumi finishes.

“If it’s that old, the magic will be embedded into it,” Hinata says, looking back down at the page as his leg bounces. “There’s no way me trying to dispel the dark magic is any easier than killing it.”

Matsukawa shakes his head. “You’re the only one who can say that.”

“Yeah, White Mage, you’re the only one who can do that in the first place,” Hanamaki jests, bumping his shoulder playfully. “We can go stealth and try and catch it off guard if it tries any shit.”

“Shouyou, you should be hidden or at a vantage to work your magic,” Iwaizumi suggests. “If it’s a succubus, it’ll be able to climb easily, but someone from above would help while the rest of us are on the ground.”

“Luckily we’re near the mountains!” Hinata exclaims, a grin working onto his face. Iwaizumi mirrors his smile, the corners of his mouth twitching for a moment as he plays with his empty glass. “But how are we supposed to attract a succubus?”

Hanamaki shrugs. “Well, everyone’s been going missing on the edge of town. If Iwaizumi hangs out there, sans the huge sword and armor, then the succubus might bite.” He turns to Iwaizumi. “Think it’ll work?”

Iwaizumi rubs his face, holding his chin in thought. “It’s our best chance.”

“So, when is this going down?” Matsukawa asks.

“Tonight,” Iwaizumi and Hinata say in unison, somehow surprising neither of them. They glance towards each other, catching and holding their gaze before Iwaizumi looks away and continues. “There’s no reason not to. If anyone agrees, we can meet back down here in fifteen minutes.”

Hinata nods, already rising to his feet, the Book of Monsters heaved off of the table and into his hands. His own vow echoes in his mind— _I need to be stronger, I need to help, I need to protect—_ fueling his every step as he takes up the stairs.

 _I’ll prove myself,_ he thinks, and in the corner of his mind, he wonders who he’s trying to become better for. The country? The people? Fate? Iwaizumi? A pair of brown hair and purple flames flash before the back of his eyes, and he shoves the thoughts away and sets down the book, breathing deeply one last time. Tonight, he fights again. Tonight, he faces another monster in the eye. Deep in his heart, he knows that a flesh hunting demon can’t be worse than what already haunts his dreams, but a shudder runs down his spine either way.

—

Iwaizumi can’t recall a time where he was bait before. Sure, in Moonstone Cave, his objective was a decoy, but there’s something different about being nothing but the hook to a larger plan that’s odd for him. Maybe it’s the ease with which he’s able to pick out the succubus from the shadows of the town. Maybe it’s how he represses his instinct to revert to scales and draw his dagger in lieu of faking ignorance to the figure walking his way.

He can see through the illusion shrouding it— most likely to divert attention from the blue tinted skin and extra set of arms protruding from its torso. It looks female, long hair smooth and pushed back to expose a face porcelain smooth, broken only by an ear-to-ear smile displaying sharp fangs and chapped lips. The monster’s eyes, while small, ghost completely white, and Iwaizumi feels the smoke of hypnosis curling around him. He shrugs it off— but drops his shoulders and leans in as the succubus raises one arm to touch his chin.

“My, oh _my,”_ it coos, pulling Iwaizumi closer. It stands taller than he does, skin and bones contorted in a way that makes its body seem less like a woman’s and more like a timepiece. “Aren’t _you_ looking absolutely _delectable…_ such a shame that there aren’t more like you around.”

“More like me?” Iwaizumi asks. Distantly, he hears the featherlight whispers of Matsukawa and Hanamaki, likely moving into position as they speak, watching from afar, ready to follow.

A tongue darts out from the succubus’ mouth, licking its lips. “Hunks,” it whispers, hand gripping tighter on Iwaizumi’s jaw. “Ones with meat on their bones.”

Iwaizumi stays still in the monster’s grasp, taking the time to study its structure. It wears very little armor— very little _anything,_ to be frank. A skin tight wrap covers its chest and parts of its torso, leaving obvious weak points exposed. The four hands are each adorned with nails sharp and pointed— talons, like his own, ones that Iwaizumi doesn’t doubt would slice through a human’s skin.

“Strong and silent, hm?” the succubus says, tongue licking Iwaizumi’s ear. He fights a grimace, staying rooted in place. “You should come with me. I know a place where you won’t ever have to be silent again.”

Iwaizumi exhales, half bored, but blinks slow and nods dumbly, not missing the satisfied smirk that the succubus sends him before slipping all of its hands down his chest, one arm resting at his waist to pull him closer to the town’s edge. Its hands wander along his back and sides as they walk, pace steady, bare feet traversing the jagged rock with ease. One of its hands slips under his shirt and begins to rake down his skin, and if Iwaizumi was certain that there were no survivors to rescue, he’d kill the monster where it stood. Something foul ebbs from it, a stench embedded deep into its being that oozes into him through the touch at his back.

 _Darkness,_ he thinks. He’s felt it before, and knows this time will be far from the last. It only strengthens, alongside the stench of something foul, something rotting and too familiar for Iwaizumi’s stomach not to drop.

The succubus brings him to a small gap in the rock of the rising mountains. Its thin enough that it can pass through without trouble, tugging Iwaizumi along and ripping him through the tight space with more strength than he was aware it possessed. He follows, forcing himself not to grind his teeth as the crack leads to a sheltered crevice the size of a small room. His eyes quickly adjust to his surroundings, to the chair fashioned from messily cleaned bones, stained with blood and sporting patches of flesh that have yet to rot. The succubus presses a hand on his chest and backs him towards a stone slab surrounded by human hands, skeletal and bent out of shape into horrendous contortions that would have never been possible in life. Rage ignites in his chest as the succubus cackles, pushing him down so that his back hits the slab.

“Now, you can tell me what it is you desire most…” it whispers, climbing on top of his thighs, one set of hands on his waist, the others walking up his chest.

_Topaz stone— orange, prismatic, sunlight— like the ginger hair and the smiles and the—_

“You don’t have to lie to yourself anymore,” the succubus murmurs, and Iwaizumi rips his mind away to listen for the footsteps of Hinata, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki, knowing they can't be far behind, knowing they have to be able to see them from the exposed sky above his head. The succubus grabs one of his hands and places it on its chest, dragging it to pull the bandages down. Iwaizumi hears something silent— a whimper, a cry— and prays to _god_ that the others notice before hell breaks loose, the succubus leaning down once more to bring its mouth to his ear.

“I can tell you what I want most from you,” it growls, tongue licking once more along the shell of his ear, sending a shudder down Iwaizumi’s spine in disgust. “I want to eat you alive and devour every scream you make, until all that’s left of you is what's left in me.”

Something above them laughs.

 _About time,_ Iwaizumi thinks as the succubus freezes.

“Hey, do you say this to all of your prospective dates, or just the pretty ones?” Hanamaki calls out from atop the rock, balancing on the edge of the crevice they’re wedged into with a smile clear as day on his face, fangs hooked and twinkling in the moonlight. The succubus’ head slowly turns away from Iwaizumi, cracking as it twists past ninety degrees to stare Hanamaki in the face and let out a hiss akin to that of a spider.

The moment it opens its mouth, Iwaizumi throws it off of him, slamming it into the wall and the pile of bones and rotting flesh hoarded. It smacks with another crunch, but clings to the grooves of the wall and quickly snaps its joints back into place.

“Mind breaking open the nest?” Hanamaki shouts. “I can’t do much from up here if you don’t!”

Iwaizumi sidesteps the creature as it throws itself at him, scales coating his body as it attempts to claw at his face. “Get out of the way then!” he calls back, spinning around when the succubus gains its footing and attempts to grab him again, this time grabbing an arm and breaking it clean in two. “I’m gonna open the area where we came in!”

The succubus, meanwhile, barely notices the break, arm clicking back into place, albeit upside down, bone piercing through its flesh. Iwaizumi doesn’t have any time to be sickened, too busy running towards one of the boulders creating the tiny entryway at full speed. Before the succubus can realize what he’s up to, his fist has already sent a crack through the stone. He grits his teeth and slams against it again, the rock crumbling enough for Hanamaki to yank Iwaizumi out, the succubus leaping right after them.

“Where’s Shouyou and Matsukawa?” Iwaizumi asks, skidding backwards, Hanamaki jumping over one of the stone fragments as the succubus chases after them, towards the plateau near the mountain’s edge.

“Waiting at the base— once we get down there, get this thing to stop jumping around,” Hanamaki tells him, twists his own body to whack a flaming hand on the succubus’ chest, batting it away as it tries to attack him. Its two left arms manage to rip through his shirt, streaking claw marks across his shoulder, pulling a groan of annoyance from Hanamaki.

Iwaizumi nods curtly, stopping dead in his tracks to turn and face the succubus as it lunges. He unsheathes his dagger, the blade causing the monster to pause for a moment, rolling one shoulder before jumping straight into the air, landing behind Iwaizumi a half second after his dagger moves into position. The succubus is quick, but Iwaizumi is quicker— a large gash opens up along its side, the creature hissing again and stumbling as black, inky blood leaks down its skin. It stops moving long enough to become distracted by Matsukawa’s approach as he begins to circle the three, afterimages merging and parting and creating a myriad of copies by the hundred, each with eyes cold and lips turned up as Matsukawa watches the succubus spin around, searching for the source.

Hanamaki uses its confusion to his advantage, his hand grabbing the succubus’ hair, fire catching onto the strands. It fills the air with the smell of singed hair and smoke, the creature wrenching from his grasp with ease, but not before a blast to its right causes it to stop. It tries to look for the origin, running towards one of the many Matsukawas lining the circle, only for it to be pushed it back. Before it can strike this new target, a copy takes Matsukawa’s place, the succubus’ hand travelling through. Above it, nestled in the stones of a mountain on the rise, is Hinata Shouyou, staff pointed at the circle below as he makes his way towards the fight, using Matsukawa’s distraction to hide his presence.

The creature whips around, facing Hanamaki with a snarl playing on its lips. “Bastard,” it seethes, voice no longer melodic and sultry, now scratched and inhumane.

Hanamaki snorts. “What, now you’re gonna call me a half breed?” he taunts, ducking a second too late when the succubus throws itself towards him, turning last moment and digging its teeth into his shoulder. It pulls away a small chunk of skin, leaving Hanamaki to burn a handprint onto its back as he pushes it back and staggers in pain. As unfortunate as his wound is, it leaves an opening for Iwaizumi to drive his dagger clean through one of the succubus’ joints, the top left arm falling to the ground. It twitches only once as the black blood oozes from it and its living host. The succubus, enraged from losing its arm, reaches behind it to try and grab Iwaizumi only for him to have left the circle entirely, Hanamaki nowhere to be seen as well.

The succubus hisses, turning in wild circles, eyes darting to try and follow Matsukawa and his identical after images. It stalks along the outer edge of the circle, inspecting each Matsukawa as he walks alongside the succubus, each copy’s eyes following the monster, driving the thing closer and closer to its breaking point.

The momentary peace in broken as Iwaizumi slips back into the circle and throws his dagger between the succubus’ shoulder blades. It arches its back, reaching an arm back and cracking it to yank the blade out of its skin. Before it can throw it back or locate Iwaizumi, though, a current of lightning strikes down on it, causing its hair to stand on end, its hands to spasm and drop the weapon. The smell of singed flesh wafts off the monster’s skin as it meets eyes with Hinata, staff pointed towards it, stance strong and determined, ready for when the succubus shrieks and bolts for him with three arms extended.

Iwaizumi is quick to jump forwards and grab a fistful of the monster’s hair, throwing it back. In terms of speed, the two are near equal, with the succubus’ bodily contortions matching Iwaizumi’s overall sturdiness and protection from his scales. The creature slams into the ground, jumping up only for Hinata to shoot a blast of white light at its face. It shrivels away from the magic, crawling back on all fours— fives?— and nurses the burns that cover a large portion of its skin.

“White Mage,” it spits, hissing and baring its teeth and rising to stand. One of its knees is twisted at an angle where the kneecap faces the side, and its gait is that of a windup toy with gears stuck from overuse. “Don’t I wonder what the inside of your head looks like.” Hinata keeps it back with another blast at its feet, the creature stumbling but staying upright. It grins wildly, deranged, knee locking back into place as it hunches over.

“I wouldn’t give you the pleasure of a short death.” Hinata inhales a short breath, blood turning to ice as he takes a step back, his hands beginning to tremble as flashbacks of twisted faces and blue lights break through his mind. “I’d break open every bone and suck out the marrow, and make sure no trace of that disgusting _magic_ remained. And when I’m through with you…” It reaches out its broken and torn appendages towards him, fingers splayed, crooking into a come hither motion towards Hinata as blood drips to the ground. “When I’m through with you, I’ll turn your bones into new arms and wear your skin as a dress.”

Iwaizumi growls, charging at the succubus and knocking it over and ripping off another of its arms. He skids with leftover momentum, the succubus not even flinching at the loss of another limb. It rushes forwards towards Hinata, Iwaizumi jumping forwards and clawing a chunk out of its shoulder in an attempt to stop it to no avail. It rips away from him and continues, blood, burns and all, hair whipping in the wind as it extends its claws for Hinata’s throat.

And in a moment so swift only because of the practice and care put into it for this exact situation, Hinata slips his dagger of bone from its sheath and drives it between them, piercing the succubus’ chest. The creature stops in its tracks, looking down at the blade pressed into it and steps back, the blade pulling from its flesh as a heavy breath leaves Hinata’s lungs.

The succubus drops to the ground, clutching uselessly against its chest as blood pours out of the wound. Its face contorts with panic, desperately trying to hold back the blood leaving its chest. The cries of desperation torn from its throat become hoarse before turning silent, lips stained black as its body seizes. It tries to move forwards, only to stumble, the blood coated hand reaching for Hinata shaking, it’s eyes filled with a burning hatred that Hinata has only ever seen on twin faces and in his dreams.

Hinata steps back, watching as it topples to the ground. The dark magic fading away from its body as it curls into a ball of broken limbs, solidifying to near stone in a few dead silent seconds. Slowly, its skin crumbles to ash, blown away by the wind in the dead of night until nothing is left in its place but black blood staining the dirt.

And just as quickly as it started, its over. Matsukawa’s copies meet up to his real body as he steps closer to the blood, Hanamaki rolling out his shoulder and stepping beside him. “Is it dead?” Hanamaki asks, tilting his head.

Hinata nods silently, watching as the blood, dark like ink, drips off of the stark white blade of his dagger. Iwaizumi approaches him slowly, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly, as if he _knows_ about the chills running down Hinata's spine.

 _It wasn’t human,_ Hinata reminds himself, swallowing thickly, remembering how its bones twisted and its words burned like acid and the darkness that ebbed off of its body. The violence of killing something, not dispelling or driving it off, sits strangely in the pit of his stomach, stirring up his insides. Iwaizumi reaches a hand to slip through Hinata's hair, more combing than ruffling. He pulls Hinata closer, until Hinata’s head is pressed against his collarbone, the hand cradling the back of Hinata’s head strong and sure and gentle. Hinata exhales, breath wavering only slightly as he feels Iwaizumi’s chin tuck on top of his head, just resting there, holding him close.

“You did amazing,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Hinata weakly nods before relaxing into Iwaizumi’s embrace, closing his eyes, pride mixing strangely with unease. “You set everything up. You all did— we did it together, right?” he says, voice quiet.

Iwaizumi’s shoulders drop, and so does his hand from Hinata’s hair, moving down to his arm as he takes a step back. Hinata relishes in the comforting touch, looking up to meet his eyes. They seemingly glow in the dark, yellow-green shining through the night. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, voice soft. “Come on, we should get back.”

“Did— was there—”

“No one was in its cave,” Iwaizumi answers. “Trust me on that. You’re recovered, but a full night’s sleep never hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, we can fix you a hot meal before bed,” Hanamaki calls, approaching them. “A celebratory feast.”

Hinata’s stomach grumbles, mood lifting slightly at the prospect of food. He smiles, real, genuine despite the heaviness that surrounds the four of them, and follows Matsukawa and Hanamaki as they link their arms together and head back off towards the inn.

—

The next morning comes late. Hinata sleeps in and wakes with the sun obscured by clouds, trying to shine through in the breaks of empty sky. Hinata stretches his arms over his head, yawning and reaching over for his clothes. His dagger lays, cleaned, on the bedside table, staff leaned up against it. The weight of last night seems to have dissipated with the assurance that a town will no longer be hiding, that people will no longer go missing. With his worries doused, he gets himself ready, following the unfamiliar sounds of chatter and scraping chairs as he heads downstairs.

He’s met with the sight of a busy tavern, Hanamaki balancing trays on his arms, laughing as he slips them onto a table filled with people of all ages. Their faces range from sheepish to elated, mimosas and smoothies and big, colourfully plated breakfasts sitting in front of them. Matsukawa waves at Hinata from behind the bar, beckoning him closer as he scrambles eggs in a large pan over the wood stove. Hinata earns a few stares from patrons, but none approach him, leaving Hinata to lean up against the bar and smile towards Matsukawa.

“What’s all this?” Hinata asks, looking back to the busy tavern.

Matsukawa shrugs, dumping some of the eggs onto a plate. “Word about the succubus got out overnight. Apparently, someone saw the thing go down and spread the word. Once people realized that we weren’t to blame, they all came back,” he says. “No harm, no foul.” He turns around, pausing with a raised brow. “Oh, Iwaizumi is back.”

Hinata follows his gaze to the open door where Iwaizumi walks through with a basket of fruits, Royal Order cloak draped over his shoulders, bright against his skin. His eyes light up at the sight of Hinata, and he sends him a warm smile as he approaches, maneuvering around Hanamaki, who bumps his shoulder as he passes. Iwaizumi turns around and shoots him a glare, Hanamaki laughing without any sense of fear while Iwaizumi’s hands are full. Eventually, he reaches the bar, setting down the ingredients with a sigh.

“Matsukawa, control your husband,” he says, pushing the fruits his way.

Matsukawa smirks. “Maybe later.”

Before Iwaizumi can groan at whatever innuendo is about to be realized, the door to the tavern opens once more, two unlikely, but familiar, faces making their way in. No one in the tavern freezes— but the two vampires and their friends tense at the arrival of the same men who had trashed the place with every intention of lynching the vampires they thought at fault for the disappearances.

“So you’ve come crawling back,” Hanamaki drawls, stopping his lively antics and serving to watch as the men make their way to the counter. Matsukawa lines a few plates on the bar to hand to customers who watch with perplexed looks only matched by their curiosity to understand the tension that strung itself in the room.

The taller, gruffer man grunts. “We were wrong,” he mutters. “‘Nd this is the best bar ‘n town.”

“What happened to wanting us dead?” Matsukawa asks, voice almost bored. He doesn’t spare them another glance, but darts his eyes to Hinata for a moment before continuing to cook. Iwaizumi stands with his arms crossed, brow furrowed as the other man searches for words.

“We, uh, considered your warning,” he says, placing his words delicately. “And heard the news of the succ-you-thing you guys ended up fighting. Big mistake, on our part.”

“And yet you come back,” Iwaizumi states. “I thought our stance was pretty clear.”

Hanamaki waves a hand. “We can let bygones be bygones, can’t we? I’ve lived eight hundred years, I’ll probably forget a few suckers with egos bigger than their brains.”

Matsukawa grins, fangs glinting. “‘Hiro, you’re right. It doesn’t matter that they came back seeking good points and hoping they’ll be on our good side. At the very least they know how little their stunt really meant.”

Iwaizumi sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t pull any shit,” he grumbles, grabbing an apple from the pile of fruit. “I assume your memories serve you well enough. Clear?”

“C-crystal,” the man says, tugging on the sleeve of his partner. “Anyways, we, uh, have errands to run. We’ll be seeing you, then!”

His partner seems confused, but follows him as they duck quickly out of the tavern, door slamming behind them in their haste to get back outside. Hinata heaves a sigh of relief, Hanamaki grinning towards him as he leans up against the bar.

“You two are insufferable,” Iwaizumi says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, but we scared them off,” Hanamaki counters. “Hinata, you hungry? Matsukawa can cook you up something if you’d like.”

Suddenly, Hinata’s stomach drops. It’s not familiar, not like the steady ache that visits him at night, not like the warm buzz of magic in his veins. It stops himself from feeling any kind of hunger, appetite suppressed as his limbs grow lighter, movements easier, simpler, as if to be anticipated by some larger force. He looks up, shrugging as he smiles. “Um, sure!”

Hanamaki nods, winking before slipping behind the counter to relay something to Matsukawa. Hinata flops down into a chair and settles on his elbows, Iwaizumi doing much the same beside him. He offers Hinata a small smile which Hinata returns in full, stomach twisting inside of him.

“We should leave come next morning,” Iwaizumi says.

“What, already?” Hanamaki asks. “You guys just got here. C’mon, you can afford to stay a little longer.”

Iwaizumi waves him off. “Your tavern is back in business and we’re taking up space—”

“Busybody. You know that doesn’t matter,” Matsukawa chimes in.

“—and as you put it, we have to finish our _'_ _big, grand quest for greatness.’_ Though, I’m not sure where we should go.”

Hinata’s stomach sways from side to side. He’s unsure if it’s from the prospect of leaving or an ailment not yet cured, but either way, the sensation leaves his appetite diminished and mood balanced on a string.

“To the west?” Hinata asks. The idea is aimless— the west of Seishun is _huge—_ but it’s direction the Iwaizumi nods at, somewhat solemnly. The tension between them grows, and despite a bustling tavern with bright faces and cheer, a kind of silence weaves its way between the two. Hinata’s stomach twists once more, this time leaving him to lean forwards and grip the side of the bar with white knuckles.

Iwaizumi leans closer, brows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”

Hinata looks up, chest growing heavier. “Stomach ache,” he replies meekly.

“You know,” Matsukawa calls over his shoulder. “There’s an apothecary right down the street, can’t miss it. Maybe you could pick something up.”

A pull at Hinata’s navel makes the whole world stop spinning, makes the room go silent. There’s a familiarity to the feeling of discomfort that he’s beginning to learn to place, though not yet name. It leaves him wondering why he’s no longer hungry only moments after ordering a plate, leaves him to ponder what distance lies between the disconnects in his body leading to the feeling of falling inside of his chest.

Iwaizumi’s hand rests on Hinata’s shoulder, pulling him back to life. Aware of his silence, he flashes a quick smile and looks back towards Matsukawa. “That— that sounds like a good idea. I’ll eat once I get back!” he says, all cheer, still feeling compelled to leave the room, leave the tavern, and go someplace he hasn’t quite figured out.

“Is everything okay?” Iwaizumi asks, pausing as he lifts his apple to his mouth.

Hinata nods quickly. “Yeah! I should be okay. I—it’s probably nothing!” he exclaims, turning with a wave as he walks out the front door of the tavern and out into the town. His feet carry him down the main street, towards the end where the apothecary lies. The fresh air does little to still whatever nerves were awoken in his stomach, the sensation still buzzing away as the bustle grows quieter and quieter until only silence is around him. He looks towards the apothecary, only for his stomach to settle like the breeze around him, confusion overtaking his entire mind.

 _Why do I feel like I should go further?_ Hinata wonders, looking around, his gaze stopping at the edge of the woods. He’s not quite dressed for the bite in the fresh morning air, wind crisp and raising the hair on the back of his neck. He pauses, stopping dead in his tracks. Nearly every hair on his body has risen, and he instantly regrets not grabbing his staff before going out, instincts already kicking in as the whispers of the wind fade into voices that echo softly off of the forest’s edge. Hinata steps closer, and closer, and closer, until the slope of the mountain is rising in front of him and whispers have begun to swarm.

And it should be familiar by now— third time's the charm, after all— but Hinata finds himself strung tight with anticipation as a figure emerges from the trees, shimmering blue robes dragging in the dirt, hood obscuring the top half of their face, and sash tied around their mouth and nose. The oracle lifts one hand towards Hinata, ornate sleeve hanging long and slipping back to expose the rest of his arm as he slips the sash down to expose his chin, stepping forwards until the gap between he and Hinata is no more than a footsteps distance. He breathes deeply before parting his lips, a thousand voices joining his in the chorus of the prophecy.

 

_“To reach the west forest of darkness and blight,_

_You must cross Seishun’s burning heart._

_Lie in the waste of the wicked night,_

_And claim the ruins of a people fallen apart._

 

_Abscond from the jaws of death;_

_Find life in the bringer of dark fire._

_He who has razed will steal your breath,_

_Replaced with a revelation you may acquire._

 

_In the sun’s mosaic of a parting set,_

_Beware the weakness of the beast you know._

_Gold will always know your debts,_

_Before you meet the rapture that has begun to grow._

 

_The ghost in your bones will not save you from what lies ahead._

_Kiss the shadow of your dreams or walk among death instead.”_

 

The words of the oracle hang in the air around Hinata, echoing even after they’ve been spoken. Slowly, as it has in the times before, the sounds of the forest return, silence no longer overpowering, replaced by the tension between Hinata and the person standing before him.

“Why?” Hinata asks, hands shaking as he clenches them into fists.

The oracle fixes their sash back around their mouth, tilting their head slightly. “What is it that you wonder?”

“Why now? Why— why tell me these things? Why—” Hinata swallows thickly, aware of the tightness in his throat. “Why couldn’t you tell me that— that— that—”

“What happened in Moonstone Cave?” the oracle finishes for him. “It was not my place. The prophecies I speak are slivers of a power no one person should handle. Your future is a world of paths I know. It is your choice to pick the ones you travel.”

“Then why not warn me that I would be _tortured?_ That I’d be left to die?” Hinata asks, and his voice has gotten firmer, angrier, an intensity building in his calmness as he stares down the oracle.

“What would you have done differently?” the oracle asks. “Would you have waited outside the cave, while your companion went in alone? Would you have stayed behind while he fought a fight of that caliber alone? Would you have never agreed to help the Order in the first place?” Hinata’s shoulders drop at the oracle’s point— he would never have let Iwaizumi move on without him, would never have stayed behind or not gone. “The future is not a strategy game. Your path is one you will walk because of who you are. The prophecies do not control that path, they point you in the direction you need to go. They are a guide, but they do not guide _you.”_

Hinata’s stomach twists. “What… what about _him?”_

The oracle tilts their head. “You’ll have to be more specific. You have a lot of men in your life.”

 _“Him,”_ Hinata repeats, voice straining. “Oikawa— the Dark Mage. Do the prophecies guide him?”

The oracle stares at him from behind their hood. “Oikawa Tooru’s fate is to yours what ivy is to a redwood. Always spreading, over hundreds of years,” they say. “I cannot touch a fate that tainted with darkness. There are some things not even I know.”

The oracle turns, moving to walk back into the woods. “Wait!” Hinata cries, reaching out his arm. “You— you _know_ so much— you could help us, you could—”

“It’s not my place to meddle with fate,” they call back, not turning around. “I am the messenger. I am not the puppeteer.”

With that, they fade into the darkness, royal blue blending into the shadows before not even a trace of his presence is left. Dead air leaves Hinata’s lungs as he sighs, the world around him louder than ever before. Birds sing from above, and the wind continues to blow, the chill nothing compared to what has crept up and down the knobs of his spine. The oracle’s words continue to hum in his ear as whilst he walks back to the tavern.

_He who has razed will steal your breath—_

_Kiss the shadow of your dreams or walk among death instead—_

Hinata pulls his cape tighter around his shoulders and pushes open the tavern door, slipping past a few exiting customers and looking around for Iwaizumi. When he can’t find him in the tavern, he jogs up the steps to their room, hands nervously playing with the hem of his cape as he pushes open the door and pokes his head in. He’s met with the view of Iwaizumi lying down on his bed, staring out at the window while he idly plays with the crystal around his neck. At Hinata’s entrance, he sits up, brow furrowed in confusion.

“You were gone for awhile. Did you finish your food already?” Iwaizumi asks, Hinata shaking his head as he collapses onto the bed across from him.

“O-oracle,” he stammers, unsure of what else to say. “The oracle visited— pencil? Pen? I need to—”

Iwaizumi instantly stands, reaching into the nightstand to pull out an elegant quill and ink container, tearing a piece of parchment and passing them to Hinata. Hinata takes them from his hands without comment, too focuses on scribbling out the words that have yet to leave his head to save anything more, to notice how Iwaizumi hand twitches by his side, how the worry winds him tight all the way to the core. The silence is punctured only by the scratch of pen on paper, broken when Hinata sighs and leans back, handing the page, wet ink and all, to Iwaizumi to read over. It takes a few moments for Iwaizumi to set the paper down, jaw tight once more, but before he can ask anything of Hinata, the latter begins to ramble.

“I don’t— I tried to speak to them, but they didn’t tell me anything important and I don’t know what _any_ of this means,” he says, biting his lip. “Like, what does abscond mean?”

“To run away,” Iwaizumi tells him. “To escape.”

“To escape death? Another monster?” Hinata flops back onto his bed, bouncing his foot against the mattress. “At least we know we have to go to the west forest.”

“And cross the desert,” Iwaizumi adds. He moves to sit on the edge of Hinata’s bed, tentative, holding himself so that he doesn’t lean into Hinata’s legs. “Most of the last made sense once it happened— this may be much the same.”

Hinata huffs. “Some prophecy, then.” He thinks back to the oracles words and warnings, the phrase _messenger,_ the distaste for the title puppeteer. “We need to leave soon, then.”

Iwaizumi hums, gazing out of the window once more. “Even though it’s fall, the desert will be hot. We’ll need clothes to wear so we don’t overheat or burn, and enough provisions to last us the journey. Not much grows there.”

Silence hangs between the two as Hinata’s heart wafts slowly into his stomach. “I liked this place,” he says quietly. “But… I know I have to— _we_ have to— move on.”

Iwaizumi turns to face him, green eyes proud, assured. He nods, scales catching the rays of sun that slip through the clouds and the window. “Then we leave in the morning,” he tells him. “We can gather what we need today.”

The air of finality sneaks up on Hinata. Somehow, it feels as if it was always there, as if he only just noticed another chapter coming to an end. Past the east forest comes the desert, and after that comes the west, comes lands that he can’t begin to fathom yet feels drawn to by a force bigger than himself. It thumps in the quiet of his heartbeats and thrums in the tissue of his scars, in the mended seams of his bones, in the very tips of his fingers and the nape of his neck.

Hinata finds himself smiling, despite it all. This pride that burns in the back of his throat and down his spine, lengthening his back until his head is held high and his shoulders no longer feel the weight of a prophecy— of a destiny— he can’t handle. The bones he has broken have mended, and have grown stronger in the break. He’ll leave Kyuuchi with his head high and skin tougher than ever before.

—

Their caravan is emptied of unnecessary weight, old bags exchanged for new ones that can hold their essentials and just that. Hinata leaves most of his clothes— all but his cape and hat— with Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Somehow, he knows he’ll return, and that the two vampires will be waiting as if no more than a day has passed. Their fall wear is exchanged for tightly woven fabric to keep out the sand, flowing sleeves to block off the sun, and pants ranging from loose and airy to skin tight and thin. They each buy a pair of sandals and pray that they don’t lose them to sinking sands or a storm, stock dried meats and fruits into bags and thank the gods above that Hinata’s magic will save them from drought.

They load up the caravan with their bare minimum and fetch the horse from the stables— they’ll need to change the caravan for one built for the sand in the town at the dune’s edge, where Iwaizumi says a small outpost lies. It’ll take upwards of two months to reach the west forest, _if_ nothing goes wrong. As intimidating as it seems, Hinata’s curiosity at what lies ahead boots his anxiety to the furthest corner of his mind. The west forest is vast, much larger than the east of Seishun, but the desert dwarfs them both in size and depth. If he can’t make it across, he’ll never be able to survive what’s to come.

_The ghost in your bones will not save you from what lies ahead—_

“Shouyou?” Hinata turns, snapping out of his thoughts and spinning to face Iwaizumi. He’s almost finished loading up the caravan, one foot propped up on the back as he turns to face Hinata. “Do you have anything else to pack?”

Hinata shakes his head. His hat is on his head, his cape on his back, dagger on his thigh, and staff in his hand. Most of all, he has Iwaizumi beside him, cloak of the Royal Order whipping around in the wind as he hops down and nods.

“We should find Matsukawa and Hanamaki and say our goodbyes,” Iwaizumi says. There’s an air of nostalgia to his tone, as if he doesn’t want to say goodbye yet. Hinata feels the same, but neither can confide in each other, a large sigh breaking the tension between them.

“I’m gonna miss having you two to tease,” Hanamaki bemoans, approaching them with his hands on his hips. “Iwaizumi, because you’re still as set in your ways as the day we met, and Hinata, because I’ve never seen someone who blushes that easily.”

Hinata, of course, blushes, laughing nervously as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and punches Hanamaki’s shoulder without any real strength. Beside him, Matsukawa smirks, holding out a dark bottle with a ribbon tied around the neck.

“For when shit gets rough,” he explains. “Or maybe if you get hit bad enough to warrant a toast to getting out alive.”

“Or for whatever you want,” Hanamaki adds as Iwaizumi takes the bottle. He shoots Hinata a wink. “Spiced rum. I think you’ll both enjoy it.”

“Thank you both. For everything, not just this,” Iwaizumi says, genuine and warm.

“We’ll miss the warm beds real soon,” Hinata tells them, not joking in the slightest.

Matsukawa raises his eyebrows. “Well, I’m glad you two got some use out of them.”

Hanamaki’s grin widens. “I _wai_ zumi, you didn’t say that you two—”

“Finish that sentence,” Iwaizumi interrupts, staring the two dead in the eye. “I dare you.”

 _“Relax,_ I know you’ll both make due with what you’ll find out there in the dunes,” Hanamaki says, leaning into his husband. “You’re a wild animal, after all. You and that _huge sword_ of yours.”

 _“Hanamaki—”_ Iwaizumi hisses, grip tightening so hard around the bottle Hinata thinks it might break. Matsukawa notices and snickers, throwing an arm around Hanamaki.

“I thought you’d loosen up once you got some,” he says, eyes lidded, tongue caught between teeth in his smirk.

“Got some what?” Hinata asks, tilting his head. He’s only half following the conversation, and isn’t quite sure if he wants to know what they mean.

Hanamaki grins, holding his face in his hand as he holds back laughter. “Oh, Hinata, never change.”

There’s a moment where the anger and confusion dissipates, leaves way for the hesitation of a parting remark they all know should come. In that moment, warmth flows between the four, familiarity sparking a flame of appreciation in Hinata’s heart as his chest swells.

“I’ll be back,” Hinata promises them. “But not soon. Not until this curse is beaten.”

The mood slips into somber, but no one coos in pity, or smiles sad.

Hanamaki sighs, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Gods, goodbyes always get me choked up,” he dramatically chokes out, only half able to stifle the laughter in his chest. He and Matsukawa smile, as if they _know_ Hinata is right, as if they know he’ll return, Matsukawa reaching out to pull Hinata into his and Hanamaki’s grasp. Hinata yelps in surprise, enveloped in a hug he didn’t expect, before softening, the comfortable touch calming the heartbeat he didn’t realize was racing.

“Thank you both,” Hinata whispers, feeling tears well up in his eyes. “Thank you both _so_ much.”

Matsukawa hums, and Hinata can feel the rumble of his chest. “No need to thank us,” he says, patting Hinata on the back. “We just did our job.”

Hinata laughs weakly, but it’s the only way he can reply. He stays there, in their arms, until he feels another presence behind him, another pair of strong arms wrapping tight around his side. Iwaizumi joins their group hug if only just for a moment before they break apart, grins of determination mirrored in each and every face.

“Stay safe, you two,” Hanamaki says.

“Kick some ass for us, yeah?” Matsukawa adds.

“You know it!” Hinata replies, earning him a laugh from the other three. Both of them walk back towards the caravan, Iwaizumi extends Hinata a hand, helping him up into the back before heading to the front to guide the horse. They leave heading down the same road they came, Hinata waving and shouting his goodbyes until Matsukawa and Hanamaki and their tavern and the town become nothing more than a speck among the trees, painted in front of the masterpiece of Seishun’s mountains.

And as the sun sets, sky firey and red, Hinata smiles, the page turning to a new day, a new season, a new world he’s yet to see. And somewhere, far from his eyes and far from their caravan, Oikawa Tooru lets the crystal ball slip from his hands once more, mouth filled with sand and words he’ll never know how to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus ends the east forest arc! we've reached the 1/3rd point. mages is gonna go on a bit of a break as we prepare for the next arc, but never fear! its not a hiatus by any means.
> 
> i want to give a big thanks to everyone who has read and commented and shared their thoughts and theories and love for this fic with us. it means more to us than we can ever describe. see you next update!


	11. dawn; dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS WE'RE HERE AND ITS SO GOOD TO BE BACK!!  
> BEFORE i start the chapter i wanna give some big shoutouts  
> first and foremost, i want to give a shoutout to all of our readers who have given kudos, especially those who have commented. your support means the world to us and i cant give enough gratitude.  
> second, to my friends [beq](https://twitter.com/astahfrith), [sardines](https://twitter.com/Papa_Sardines), [alex](https://twitter.com/CirnoOf9), and [famke](https://twitter.com/honnojis), who all gave Live Commentary to us while reading the fic and sent us their thoughts and theories. (especially beq like holy shit if u wanna talk mages theories hit them up)  
> and last but not least in any sense:  
> blaze for [this absolutely stunning piece of fanart](https://blazedailydraw.tumblr.com/post/174181334251/fanart-for-mooksmookins-mages-au-i-already-put), max for [this wonderful piece](https://nanashinanase.tumblr.com/post/168262806612/cursed-with-ginger-smiles-and-a-love-he-should), and to my friend ash who didn't post his art but sent it to us. thank you all so much! mages wouldn't be what it is today without any of you! - mooks
> 
> —
> 
> hey!!! im sure mooks has summed up all the thoughts abt how long its been but im gonna reiterate: im sorry for the wait!! im in the middle of writing a paper in the summer because i hate myself, but after some elbow grease and hard work, mages is back baby! - kj

A week passes in the form of rolling hills sloping into planes, with each new day hotter than the last, each night bitter with cold. The sun shines bright overhead, reaching across the ever widening horizon in a dome of watercolour sunrises and sets. Days spent travelling are also spent writing letters to send home when he’s next able to, are spent practicing magic in the back of the caravan, are spent listening to Iwaizumi hum melodies under his breath. They’ve planned a route on their map of Seishun cutting directly through the desert, knowing that their only destination should be the setting sun, and that what lies in the empty expanse of sand will be a mystery until they enter its borders. Their plan is a rough one, a hasty one, one that hinges more on fate than design. Their first destination is an outpost at the very edge of the desert, the last permanent settlement known before reaching the west.

On the seventh day, Hinata readies their things into bags and joins Iwaizumi at the helm, watching as the haze of the ever heating days rises.

“We should be there soon,” Iwaizumi tells him, tearing his eyes form the dunes to look towards Hinata. He smiles, a small upturn of his lips, scales reflecting the light of the beating sun. Hinata nods, kicking his feet excitedly as they dangle off of the cart. Hopefully, they’ll be able to get a more detailed map of the desert, or at the very least, directions of which way is the safest to travel once they reach the outpost. Hinata doesn’t doubt they’ll have trouble in finding someone to update them on the best trails and paths or what lies ahead.

Slowly, a small wooden structure comes into view. It lacks the grandeur Hinata imagined, sporting a few rickety building leaning against each other and no people to be seen or heard. Iwaizumi furrows his brow, narrowing his eyes as Hinata squints beside him.

“I thought you said it was bigger,” Hinata says, shielding his eyes from the sun as he tries to get a better look at the buildings. Even as they grow closer, no new structures appear, nor do any voices or caravans make their way into plain sight.

“It is,” Iwaizumi answers. “Or was, at least.”

They slow the carriage as they approach, the outpost becoming more and more bleak as the distance shrinks between them. Buildings stand as piles of wooden shrapnel, roofs concave and possessions lying in the streets. None of the houses made of stone stand. They look to be eons older than they are, crumbled away and housing only piles of sand that blow through broken glass windows and open roofs. What shelter is left sways in the breeze, drifting sand and hot air into Hinata’s face. He coughs, squinting as a haze clouds through the outpost.

“What happened?” Hinata asks, lowering his hat to protect his eyes as he hops off of the caravan.

Iwaizumi bites his lip, hesitating. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t look like anyone is still here,” he says. “The wreckage must be recent enough not to be completely covered in sand.”

“But long enough that its collected in there,” Hinata says, pointing to the largest stone building. “How long would that take?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Maybe a week, by the look of it. Sand storms might affect that.” He steps down from the caravan, pausing to pet the snout of their horse before making his way over to Hinata. “We should still check to see what’s left here. If there’s anything of use left abandoned, we should take it with us.”

Hinata nods. He pulls his shirt up around his nose and makes his way into the outpost, sand firm enough that his footing doesn’t slip too much as he walks. The stalls are decimated, torn clothes waving in the wind from posts, storefronts folded in on themselves completely. Hinata peers into a few of them to see what they hold. Clothes, fruits, canisters to hold water, and jewelry. He sneaks a few canisters and fruit through open spaces and carries them in his arms back to the caravan before searching further. Though bruised, food will be scarce once they reach the desert’s heart, and Hinata isn’t one to pass up free food on a good day.

Walking through the outpost is odd, echoing the destruction to Hatarakemura in the wake of the Sea Serpent Leviathan. It still looks lived in— there are little carvings in still standing posts reading initials in a heart and small sandals blowing around in the wind. There are things left behind, not just money, but books and art and pottery. In the stone buildings, which must’ve been houses, furniture looks well used and well maintained if not or the sand dusting its surface. Beds are unmade, but still _beds_. Whoever abandoned it, for whatever reason, must’ve done it in a haste.

Iwaizumi stands on the opposite side of the street, plucking a few items from the display and dropping them into a small cloth bag. There’s still one area they’ve yet to inspect— the crumbled stone entry point with the slanted metal roof. Hinata’s sure that even if it _did_ fall, Iwaizumi would have no trouble lifting it to help him out. Still he turns to him and shouts before leaving.

“I’m gonna check out the last building!” he calls to him, pulling his shirt down from his nose so that his voice isn’t muffled. Iwaizumi turns around and nods.

“Be careful!” he calls back, wind carrying his voice steady and clear. “I’ll be right behind you!”

Hinata jogs over to the building, slowing to squint in the way of the sun and take a better look at it. It’s a nice source of shade in a place with little shelter to be found, and as Hinata approaches, he’s torn between keeping cautious and throwing it out of the window and taking a break from the heat. He settles on slowly slipping through the crumbled pillars and into the shade, sunlight still beaming through the cracks in the stone. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but already Hinata can feel the relief on his skin as the cool air that remained trapped in the small shelter. He rests his hands on his knees, leaning onto himself instead of the buckling walls, catching a breath as his eyesight comes back to him. He’s just about ready to look for any water that may be stored when his eyes land upon the last thing he expected to find— a body. He yelps in surprise as he stumbles back, wide eye trained on the body and watching for the tell-tale sign of breathing. Thankfully, the body’s chest still rises and falls, albeit slow and shallow, and relief washes over Hinata.

 _They’re still alive,_ _thank gods_.

Hinata snaps his fingers and sparks a white light into the room, illuminating his surroundings to the body’s— a boy’s— face. He doesn’t react to the sudden brightness, lying scarily still, slumped up against one of the crumbling walls. If not for the slow lift of his shoulders, Hinata would think he was dead. Blood spills out from a split lip, and his shirt has been torn at the midriff with the same fabric being used to bandage a wound on his forearm. Blood seeps through that one too, staining his dusty skin red with drying blood and sweat. Hinata steps closer, kneeling down in front of him to check for injuries.

“Hello?” he asks, raising his voice. The boy doesn’t respond, spiking Hinata’s anxiety tenfold as he thinks up the best way to carry the boy to the caravan. Luckily, he’s not alone much longer.

“Shouyou?” Iwaizumi calls, footsteps approaching quickly. “Are you alright?”

“I— I’m fine, but there’s someone here,” Hinata answers, not tearing his eyes from the body as Iwaizumi slips under the roof and walks up beside him. “He’s breathing but I don’t know what’s wrong, he looks hurt—”

“I can carry him out,” Iwaizumi tells him, already reaching under the boy’s knees and around his waist to hoist him into his arms, careful as to mind the wound still bleeding from his wrist.

Hinata scurries out in front of them, wringing out his hands in his cape as they walk back through the broken outpost. “Is there anyone else you saw? Do you think he’s the only one?”

“No one is here,” Iwaizumi tells him. “It’s just him. Can you heal his arm and get him some water when we get back? He’s most likely dehydrated.”

Hinata nods, going ahead to lay out a blanket for the boy to lay on. Iwaizumi is quick to arrive behind him, lying the boy down as Hinata rests his staff over his arm. It’s not a very strenuous heal— his injuries are mild, and as Iwaizumi suspected, his dehydration may be the biggest worry at the moment. He stirs slightly, a groan escaping his lips, still not moving much at all. Hinata pulls water from the Fog and fills one of the canisters to the brim, handing it to Iwaizumi who sits the boy up and coaxes him to drink. The boy’s breath remains steady, and through the confusion of his current state, he manages to swallow, albeit a small amount. Hinata sighs in relief, watching as Iwaizumi helps him drink little by little until the container is emptied. Once done, the boy goes slack, nearly slipping out of Iwaizumi’s hold. He catches his head and lowers him back down, Hinata’s heart beating once more now that he’s sure he’s safe.

Iwaizumi scoots back up next to him, rolling out his shoulders and bumping his head against the caravan’s wall. Hinata looks up at him, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly as Iwaizumi sighs.

“He’s alive,” he murmurs.

“Did you think he wasn’t gonna drink anything?” Hinata asks. Unspoken: _did you think he was dead on his feet?_

Iwaizumi grimaces, cracking open an eye. “Sometimes you assume the worst. I’m glad you didn’t.”

The two look at the sleeping boy from where they sit. He’s thin, but muscular, body lean in the way travellers tend to be, clothes torn in a unfortunate state of disrepair. His hair is cut close to his scalp, coloured a light shade of blonde with two streaks of black and has thick black markings around his closed eyes. They’re almost geometric in shape, extending onto the highest points of his cheekbones before stopping. The rest of his face is bare, but a similar marking climbs up his right arm, continuing across his shoulder blade and under his shirt. Hinata hasn’t seen anything like it before— the intricacies to each line, each swirl and each corner are impressive even without considering their size.

“Do you recognize the markings, or are they for show or something?” Hinata asks Iwaizumi, careful to keep his voice down.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I’ve never seen this particular kind before,” he tells him. “We’ll have to ask once he wakes up.”

Hinata nods, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Will we still continue on?”

“I think it’s best to. We can drape him over the horse and keep an eye on him while we travel.” Iwaizumi rolls out his shoulder, heading back towards the front of the caravan. “I was hoping to get wheels better suited for the sand, but that’s the least of our worries now. Should we get going?”

Hinata nods, crossing his legs. “I can keep an eye on him for now!” he says, looking back over to the sleeping boy, watching his chest rise and fall. “If he wakes up again, I’ll give him more water.”

“Tell me if you need anything,” Iwaizumi says, ducking down and readying the horse to set off.

They move on in much of the same manner as before, trudging through the sand. Hinata rests his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand, wondering who the boy could be. Was he from the outpost, or was he a traveller? Where is he headed? Will he be okay? His skin remains washed out, only coloured by melanin and not the sun, no rose tones to his cheeks or tan to his shoulders. For a boy stranded in the desert, his skin doesn’t look the part, leaving Hinata to worry for his health.

There is nothing Hinata can do for him now— not yet, at least. He’s left to sit and watch him breathe in the dry heat of the desert, caravan shaking beneath him as the broken remains of the outpost disappear from view.

—

The boy regains brief consciousness a few times over the next few days, only long enough to drink all the water they give him and eat whatever he can keep down before passing out once more. Feverish, he spends most of the days and nights asleep, unaffected by the shivering chill of darkness in the desert. Hinata and Iwaizumi switch guards during the night, and at his turn, Hinata always resorts to wrapping himself in a few layers of cloaks, lighting a small flame to brighten the night and warm his hands. He never expected a desert to be so cold, never thought he’d be left shivering once the stars etched themselves overhead.

For what it lacks in comfort, the desert makes up for in view. The galaxy stretches over the blanket of the inky velvet sky, blue and white and purple, shimmering and threatening to outshine the moon. Iwaizumi has names for the constellations, ones Hinata has never heard before. He translates them to common tongue and traces the patterns out with one hand, face soft and scales shimmering in the moonlight. He wears them constantly, only fading back to skin when the boy stirs to drink or eat. With not much to do as he keeps watch, Hinata traces the constellations with his own fingers and smiles at the memory of Iwaizumi’s voice lilted as if in song.

The days are longer, hotter, harsher, sand coarse when it blows into Hinata's hair, air dry and doing nothing for the sweat that sticks to his skin. Each sunrise and sunset is a blessing, when the temperature reaches a happy medium between scorching and chilled, where Hinata can sigh and watch red blend to orange to pink and yellow like a watercolour mirage along the endless horizon. It soothes him into wakefulness or sleep— whichever the time calls for— stirs him to stretch and look forward to what lies ahead.

It’s on the sixth day, just as the sun has begun to rise, that the boy is finally lucid enough to speak. He groans, sitting up far too quickly for someone who spent the better part of a week unconscious, rubbing his eyes.

“Where am I?” he grumbles, words slurred. Hinata goes to tap Iwaizumi’s shoulder only to find him awake, scales already gone in place of his human skin.

“In a caravan in the desert,” Iwaizumi tells him. “We found you in the wreckage of the outpost just on the border. We’ve been nursing you back to health since.”

The boy drops his hands, glaring at Iwaizumi before flicking his eyes to Hinata. Hinata jumps at the intensity of his glare as he narrows his eyes before ripping them away and attempting to stand.

“Um, are you—” Hinata starts, but is cut off as the boy stumbles before he even rises halfway, cursing under his breath, one hand flying to his left ankle.

“You’ve been out for at least six days. We gave you food and water—” Iwaizumi tries to tell him before the boy cuts him off.

“I know,” the boy snaps, not bothering to look their way. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“We’re headed to the West Forest,” Hinata chimes in. “If you need to hitch a ride, it’s probably a lot better than walking.”

The boy turns and stares deadpan at Hinata, brows furrowed as if he had just spat at his feet. Hinata panics, backpedalling as he waves his hands in front of him.

“Uh, I’m Hinata! I’m the White Mage, and Iwaizumi— him, he’s a knight, First Knight of the Royal Order actually— we’re trying to get across the desert,” he rambles, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, if you’re headed west—”

The boy scoffs. “M’not headed anywhere,” he says, leaning back against the opposite wall of the caravan. He sticks out his left leg, reaching to feel up his ankle, nose screwed up as he pushes his pant leg up out of the way. “D’you have bandages?”

“I can heal it,” Hinata offers, reaching for his staff.

“Don’t need it,” he says, pointedly not meeting Hinata’s eyes as the tension in the caravan thickens.

“What’s your name?” Iwaizumi asks. His voice has slipped into the same one he uses around the the soldiers, poised and demanding of something akin to respect, confident and assured.

The boy pauses for four long seconds before looking up at Iwaizumi, scowling. “Kyoutani.”

“You’re only hurting yourself, Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi responds, staring him down. “Let him heal you. It’s better than being stubborn and wallowing in pain for no reason.”

Whatever Hinata expected, it was not this. The staring contest between the two lasts long enough that he worries they’ll lose time spent travelling in the quarrel when Kyoutani finally looks away, clicking his tongue. He abruptly looks up at Hinata, causing him to startle, and jerks his head to motion for him to come closer. Tentatively, Hinata grabs his staff, keeping an arm’s distance between them as he sets the tip onto his ankle and soothes the sprain. Kyoutani’s shoulders unwind, but his brows remain pinched tightly together, face sour as he grunts in what Hinata optimistically assumes is thanks.

Settling back down across from him, Hinata watches as Kyoutani pulls his knees to his chest and closes his eyes, already nodding off again. Unsure what to do and hesitant to break the silence, Hinata hushes up and scooches closer to where Iwaizumi sits at the front, one eye on Kyoutani, worry spiked in his gut. It isn’t that he’s afraid of him, or that he doesn’t trust him alone. Rather, it’s the pain and the sharpness to his every move that makes Hinata wonder what grated his edges to leave them so coarse.

—

The desert becomes completely and utterly boring after a week.

The sunsets and stars are the only breath of fresh air, leaving the long days filled with coarse red sand and sunshine so bright Hinata can hardly see. Iwaizumi’s compass keeps them on a steady path west, the horse and caravan moving at a snail’s pace in the sweeping dunes. It beats walking, but leaves little to be done in the meantime. There’s no difference between the hills of sand, no travellers to wave at, no wildlife to seek out or objects to identify in an old fashioned game of _I Spy._ For all of the oracle’s prophecies and mysterious tales, the desert has become something of a one trick pony.

Hinata sighs, fanning himself as he looks over to Kyoutani. His rough apathy leaves little room for reading his mood. He’s yet to complain about the speed, but doesn’t strike up conversation as a stowaway usually might. He keep silent, watches the sand blow by, and bandages and unbandages his knuckles each morning. He never asks for food or water, but doesn’t turn it down, never initiates conversation and does little to nothing to keep one going whenever asked a question. Communication between him and Hinata is mainly done through glares and awkward smiles, respectively. Hinata wishes he were fine keeping it that way.

Night comes as it always does, the blistering heat making way for air cool enough to raise the hair on the back of Hinata’s neck. They stop their travels and feed the horse, Iwaizumi petting his snout while Hinata sparks a fire large enough to cook on in the sand outside. He’s crouched next to the flame, picking grains of sand from his nail beds when Iwaizumi walks over to join him at the fireside, dusk ending all around them as the last hints of day flicker into the horizon.

The desert is silent at night. The wind and crackle of the fire fills Hinata’s ears, air still, quiet, as if him and Iwaizumi are the only two people in the whole world. Hinata knows that isn’t true, knows that Kyoutani is just a few steps away in the caravan alone, knows that to the east from where they came is an entourage of smiling faces and friends who they’ll see again, knows that the pull in his stomach and the ache in his chest ties him to a person ages away yet close enough to touch if only he closes his eyes.

Iwaizumi settles down in the sand next to him as their food cooks away, fire flickering warm light against their faces. In the cover of the night, Iwaizumi has let his scales become seen once more, green reflecting gold as Hinata watches the light bounce across the sand. A chill has set into the air, but here, next to the fire, they’re warm. Iwaizumi tips back his head and looks up at the sky, raising one hand to point up towards the endless expanse of stars.

“Which one is that?” Hinata asks, without missing a beat.

Iwaizumi traces out the constellation, before turning with soft eyes to look his way. “Its name translates to _golden riverbed._ The name is mostly because it winds across the sky, but also because it appears to the viewer when they are in need of wealth.”

“A money constellation?” Hinata asks, following Iwaizumi’s fingertip as he searches to find the pattern of stars.

Iwaizumi chuckles, the low, rumbling tone warming Hinata’s chest. “Not quite. A wealth of knowledge, or a wealth of support, luck, excitement…” his voice trails off. “A wealth of love, perhaps.”

Hinata blinks, connecting each star with his fingertips until the golden riverbed stretches above his head. He sees it as clear as day, curling between the other stars and creeping along the dome above their heads, towards the moon and towards the horizon where sky meets land. It feels like magic unto itself, glowing in the heavens high above his head. Both their hands drop, resting in the sand with their eyes still fixed on the stars, both aware of the other sitting so near. After all they’ve been through, they’re not strangers to physical closeness. But the changing of bandages and feeding by spoon was done through necessity, not a simple want. Hinata wants to be a bit closer, to feel comfort in a place so large and lonely. The assurance of touch is one he finds himself missing after leaving Kyuuchi, one that could be solved by inching his hand just a little bit closer.

He never gets the chance. Iwaizumi abruptly sits up, scales traded for skin as Kyoutani plops down on the other side of the fire, hardly flinching as the smoke blows into his face. It adds mystery to his already disheveled aesthetic— dark eyes lined with geometric patterns pierce through the haze and the flame to stare at Hinata and Iwaizumi, the night now silent save for the sparse _pop_ of their food cooking. Hinata is hesitant to call Kyoutani’s gaze a glare, but it feels that way, what with the scowl fixed to his face as he sits, unmoving, tense.

“Um, hey!” Hinata attempts to greet him, voice bright and strained. Kyoutani stares blankly at him. “Are you hungry?”

He continues to say nothing, stiff shouldered and silent. Hinata looks towards Iwaizumi, eyes pleading for him to do something to break the awkward atmosphere created between the three. Iwaizumi nods slowly before turning to Kyoutani, shoulders straightening as he stares at him from across the fire.

“What made you come over here?” Iwaizumi asks. His voice is strong, not unlike how he addressed the soldiers of the Royal Order. It makes even Hinata sit up, commanding respect that Kyoutani doesn’t instantly give. Instead, he sharpens his glare, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes. Iwaizumi doesn’t back down— his posture remains strong and steady, not a muscle moving as the smoke curls around the three of them, fire burning on. Hinata isn’t sure how long their standoff lasts, it only breaking when Kyoutani finally tears his eyes away, mumbling something under his breath.

“Smelled food,” he says roughly, nodding towards the meat pegged above the flame.

“You’re free to have some,” Iwaizumi tells him, reaching forwards to pull some off for himself. Hinata is halfway towards reminding him that fire makes things _hot_ when he realizes Iwaizumi has shielded his skin with scales, unflinching as he pulls the food away to let it cool.

Kyoutani wrinkles his nose, looking between Iwaizumi and his hand suspiciously. “Are you fuckin’ human?”

Hinata chokes on his spit, taken aback by Kyoutani’s brash and blunt attitude. Iwaizumi doesn’t bother with much of a reaction, tearing off a piece of meat and chewing only it before staring Kyoutani in the eye once more. “Do I look like one?”

Hinata feels the tension beginning to rise between the two, and quickly interrupts. “He’s half dragon, actually!”

Kyoutani reaches for the food, flinching at the heat before trying again, face still scrunched up in confusion. “What, so you can breath fire ‘n shit?”

Almost exasperatedly, Iwaizumi nods. “When the situation calls for it.”

“‘Nd do you transform? Like, into the real thing?” he asks. Hinata himself perks up at the question and looks at Iwaizumi, curious himself.

“Only full dragons can transform,” Iwaizumi says.

Kyoutani flicks his eyes up and down Iwaizumi’s form once more before snatching his food and nodding gruffly. “A’ight, then.”

Hinata looks back towards Iwaizumi nervously, whose demeanour hasn’t changed as he eats. He lets his shoulders drop slightly, relieved that the two sorted out whatever was in the air, happy that Kyoutani has finally decided to participate in conversation willingly. The night continues on with careful conversation between him and Iwaizumi, glances shared towards Kyoutani as he eats his share and watches them from across the fire. He lingers silently for a good hour before retreating back to the caravan, leaving Iwaizumi and Hinata in silence until their fire fizzles out.

—

If not vast, empty, and scorching, the desert is calm, for lack of better word. Hinata’s stretch of monster-less travelling is longer than it has been for awhile, leaving his mind suspecting his luck may run short. It’s desolate enough to trick him into believing nothing could survive, save the scorpions and the snakes that scuttle under any rock overturned. Iwaizumi is alert, as always, and it’s not as if he doesn’t trust him to hear something coming. Hinata _knows_ they’re prepared to ward off a few monsters, but preparation means nothing if not put into theory.

They’re stopped by a small, shriveled shrub to wash themselves off when it happens. The little rain cloud he had conjured to cool of Iwaizumi and Kyoutani’s back flickers as the familiar sensation of dark magic raises the hairs on his neck, leaving him to grab his staff and scan his surroundings. Iwaizumi notices his anticipation a moment after, before he even stops conjuring water onto his head. Shaking off droplets of water from his head, he reaches to grab his sword from where it lies on the ground, and in a flash Hinata catches from the corner of his eye, he swings it to catch something growing behind him.

Sand beings to swirl in clouds around them as Iwaizumi’s sword glides through an enormous column that continues to grow. The sand shifts under Hinata’s feet, pulling and gravitating towards the mound until it’s reached a height nearing fifty feet, with two outstretched appendages and a faint glow emitting from its centre.

“What the _hell,”_ Kyoutani shouts, rearing back, “is _that?”_

Iwaizumi grits his teeth and spits out a mouthful of sand, jumping back. His skin has already been traded in for thick, green scales, impervious to the grit of sand scraping against them. “It’s a monster made of sand,” he answers curtly, rolling away as one of the appendages slams down where he stood.

Hinata raises his staff towards the monster. “Get back, I’m gonna try something!” he yells, waiting until Iwaizumi has jumped behind him to unleash the spell charging at the end of his staff.

A wind tunnel forms in front of Hinata, kicking up sand and blasting the monster dead on. Its form peels away as the sand comprising its body is blown back, arms still attempting to reach forwards as a a glowing black orb appears in view. A second later, the creature has vanished, only to rise up on Hinata’s left, pulling the ground away from under him as it threatens to swallow him whole. Iwaizumi swiftly reaches forwards and grabs the back of his shirt, yanking him out of harm's way.

“Some help that was,” Kyoutani grumbles, still on guard by the shriveled plants.

Hinata sends ice shooting around the creature’s base, freeze it in place long enough that he and Iwaizumi can regain their footing. He whips around to face him as the creature begins to reform around the ice, sucking up more sand as Hinata points to his centre.

“Did you see that black orb?” he shouts to him.

“Is that what’s controlling it?” Iwaizumi calls back.

“Yes!” Hinata responds. “Break it!”

No sooner does Iwaizumi leap high into the air, kicking up sand just as the monster behinds to move again, surging forwards to meet him. Iwaizumi’s sword arcs from above his head in a broad swing that cuts through the sand and lodges into the orb at the very apex of his jump. He’s left suspended in midair for a single, agonizing second before the orb explodes in a show of black lightning and sand, sending waves of energy, as well as Hinata and Kyoutani, flying.

When the dust settles, and Hinata has stood to his feet, he watches Iwaizumi rise tall, all of the sand deposited in dunes surrounding him, leaving him untouched. He holds the remnants of the orb in one hand, black, jagged pieces of glass, and crushes them, watches as it falls as nothing more than desert sand. He spits sand from his mouth and turns to face Hinata, who sighs heavy and wipes his face on his arm.

Kyoutani clears his throat. “What the fuck?” he croaks, his throat as coarse as the sand that grits against Hinata’s teeth.

“You alright?” Iwaizumi asks, sheathing his blade.

“Yeah, gods, shit, ‘m fine,” Kyoutani says. “What the hell was that?”

Iwaizumi looks to Hinata, who jumps at the sheer intensity of both he and Kyoutani’s shared stares. “Uh, some kind of sand monster?”

Kyoutani blinks, then groans. He rubs his face, stretching the black markings on his face. “Shit,” he says. “This is what you guys bring with you?”

“I mean, they’re just kinda… everywhere. They aren’t really attracted to me or anything,” Hinata tells him. “Were the Dark Mage’s monsters not problem where you were from?”

Kyoutani jaw tenses, and he looks away. “You tellin’ me this whole White Mage, Dark Mage shit is real?”

“You thought it _wasn’t?”_ Hinata exclaims.

“No one ever heard anything about it,” he grunts. “‘Sides the legend.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, grabbing his things. “We should head out. Nothing here for us now.”

Hinata nods, grabbing his bag and slinging over his shoulder. He and Iwaizumi pile their things back into the caravan and buckle the horse back into its reins. Before Iwaizumi gives him a leg up, Hinata looks back for Kyoutani, and watches him stare at the ground at his feet. He almost calls out for him, but stops as Kyoutani stares at the sky. He’s still, silent, and then looks away, as if blinded by the light of the burning evening sun.

—

The caravan is far from lively, but earlier tensions with Kyoutani slowly seem to dissipate. It starts small, beginning with a grumbled response to Hinata’s over eager morning greetings, sitting next to him and Iwaizumi when they stop to start a fire, that grows into short, awkward conversation, but conversation nonetheless. Kyoutani questions Hinata, more often than not, his wariness of Iwaizumi having been somewhat subdued after watching him smash a monster to pieces. The questions circle around what Hinata expected less, despite it being what anyone may be wondering.

“So, this White Mage shit,” Kyoutani says as he gnaws on a piece of jerky. “Did you just _decide_ you were the White Mage or somethin’?”

Hinata rubs the back of his neck. “Well, no,” he laughs nervously. “Uh, I saved my little sister with this big magic, and then the village witch recognized it. But there’s this oracle that follows me— well not _follows_ me but knows my every move since they’re all knowing— and like… told me? At least, in a cryptic way I didn’t understand at first.”

“The White and Dark Mage are born as such,” Iwaizumi adds in.

“You’re some royal knight or whatever. Why the hell did you tag along?”

Iwaizumi pauses. “I’d like to think I’d come even if the King hadn’t ordered me to.”

Kyoutani groans at that. “What’s some fucking king gotta do with all this?”

“I-I mean, h-he’s our King,” Hinata stammers, cut off by a grunt from Kyoutani.

“S’no king of mine,” he says, ripping off another piece of jerky. “Don’t see why you two even care about a king.” He gestures to Hinata. _“You’re_ on that… _destiny_ shit—” he gestures to Iwaizumi. “—and _you’re_ a fuckin’ dragon-born kid or whatever.”

“I mean, Oi— the Dark Mage killed his dad and the entire army and then cursed him,” Hinata tells him. “I couldn’t undo the curse, so now he wants… vengeance, like everyone else.”

Silence falls over the three as Kyoutani mulls over his words. The sun that shines through the back of the caravan highlights the stark difference between his washed out skin and the inky black markings that curl around his face. Hinata glances over to Iwaizumi, watching as his brows furrow, lips purse, the way he does when he’s thinking.

“Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi says. Kyoutani looks up in recognition, a sign for him to go on. “Where are you from?”

Kyoutani falls silent, his jaw setting as he drops his eyes to the floor rather than meet Iwaizumi’s in a challenge. Hinata’s anxiety spikes, fearful that a nerve has been hit, just as Kyoutani begins to speak.

“Underground,” he answers with a grunt. “Lived there my whole life, ‘til now.”

“Alone?” Hinata asks, instantly regretting it.

Kyoutani snaps his head up, glowering as his eyes darken. “No, not fuckin’ alone, with my whole goddamn family and everyone else,” he snaps. Iwaizumi straightens up, staring him down as Kyoutani’s whole body tenses with rage, at something more than Hinata’s question, at something deeper that lies under his skin. Slowly, he begins to lean back, as if sensing no danger, and slumps against the wall. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles. “None of ‘em are coming back.”

The conversation ends there, decided by the closure of Kyoutani’s eyes and Iwaizumi’s careful retreat back to the front of the caravan. Hinata lets his eyes trail over Kyoutani’s resting form for one moment, before following in suit, leaving him to come down from the confession of something he can’t understand.

Hinata never gets to the front of the caravan. As soon as he stands, the caravan screeches to a halt as the horse whinnies, sharp and rooted with fear. Hinata falls forwards onto Iwaizumi, who catches him haphazardly as the horse bucks and snaps out of the reigns, bolting as a deep rumble sounds from all around them. Their caravan begins to tip, the three of them sliding to smack against the wall as it rolls, the rumbling strong enough to shake the cart as it collapses onto one side completely. Their things smack into them and roll as sand slips in through the openings, clouding as the shaking of the ground beneath them subsides.

They all stay still for a moment, Kyoutani being the first to jostle his way out of the fallen goods to look around. Iwaizumi helps Hinata up, pulling him out of the caravan to look outside at the newly formed ravine in the sand, not steep enough to be called a cliff, but too staggering to have not noticed a moment ago.

“What was that?” Hinata asks, looking around as he dusts himself off.

It’s Kyoutani who speaks up with an answer. “Tunnel collapse,” he says. He looks back at the caravan, at the snapped posts and broken wheels, turned up on its side and rendered useless. “The horse left.”

“I can see that,” Iwaizumi says, turning to give Hinata a once over. “Are you hurt?”

“I— I’m fine— what are we supposed to do now?” Hinata asks, a bit shaky from the leftover adrenaline.

“We walk,” Iwaizumi says, rolling out his shoulders. “It’s nothing impossible. It’ll extend our travel time, but we should be alright.”

He and Kyoutani seem equally as happy about the predicament, which is to say, not happy at all. Hinata reaches for his canteen and takes a sip, looking towards the endless blue horizon. It’s daunting, incredibly so, but Hinata believes in Iwaizumi’s words and in the fact that there’s another side of country waiting for them at the desert’s end. Kyoutani squints at Iwaizumi, glancing back and forth between the same horizon and Iwaizumi himself, as if in disbelief.

“Come on,” Iwaizumi says, walking over to the wreckage and gathering up their things. “If we don’t get a move on, it’ll just take longer.”

“R-right!” Hinata exclaims, helping Iwaizumi stuff the bags full with all that they can carry.

Iwaizumi glances back at Kyoutani. “Are you coming with us still?”

Kyoutani scowls. “Yeah. Might as well,” he grumbles, begrudgingly making his way over to them and helps them pick up the last of their belongings.

—

The trek is a lot more time and energy consuming on foot, which is to be expected. They cover less than half the ground they did with the caravan in twice the time, and are left with blistering feet and sunburns to show for all their effort. Hinata knew it’d be difficult, but he wasn’t expecting it to be _gruelling,_  wasn’t expecting the blowing sand to eat away at the skin on his face, wasn’t expecting the scorching sun to suck away the life left in him.

If Hinata, the boy from the East, is struggling, then Kyoutani, the one who apparently lived in the shadows of the underground, is suffering. Hinata thanks every god in the heavens that he can easily provide water for him with his magic, that there’s no need to try and conserve, that they can wet towels and drape them over their necks as they walk. Kyoutani goes back to not talking if only because he needs every ounce of energy to keep moving, and for that, Hinata commends him. If what he said was true, and Hinata has no reason not to believe it is, then he really is alone, wandering alongside two people with their own goal that doesn’t align with his own. Hinata isn’t quite sure what Kyoutani will do once they reach their destination— find a new home? Wander alone? If there is anything more bleak than the scenery around them, it’s the uncertainty of Kyoutani’s future, twisting Hinata’s stomach with pity and concern.

For all their troubles, Iwaizumi likes the heat, or at the very least, doesn’t mind it. His skin is traded in for scales on the second day of walking, which reflect the light and the heat better than normal, human skin, much to Hinata’s envy. He still drapes himself in the cold cloths Hinata provides from time to time, likely to compensate when his cold blooded body gets _too_ hot, but out of the three of them, has no complaints about the oppressive heat. When they stop to rest, he even _basks_ in it, lying on flat stones or the scorching sand to soak it all in.

 _Cute,_ Hinata thinks. _Like a lizard._

He immediately giggles at the idea of Iwaizumi Hajime, the part dragon warrior, acting as simple as a lizard. Kyoutani shoots him a concerned glance at his laughter, and Hinata promptly shuts himself up, a smile still plastered to his face. That smile is soon lost the second Iwaizumi decides his shirt is unnecessary, peeling the fabric off his body and tearing it in half. Both Hinata and Kyoutani freeze in shock as he continues shredding it in large strips before handing the pieces to Hinata, brow furrowed at his gaping mouth and confused stare.

“Face protection, for both you and Kyoutani,” he explains slowly, head tilted to one side. “It’s gonna get hotter, and your hat can only do so much.”

Hinata clears his throat, swallowing thickly as takes the strips from him. He has to force himself not to stare at Iwaizumi’s bare, scaly chest, muscles defined as if chiseled by the gods. “Right,” he says, mouth even dryer than before.

One particularly windy day leaves the three to deal with an onslaught of grading sand against their skin, hands held over mouths as they walk. As hard as walking through a desert is, walking through a desert while breathing short as not to inhale the sand is even harder, leaving Hinata coughing out a lung and stopping too often to be helpful. Eventually, he remembers he has _literal magic powers,_  and sets up a barrier around them to keep the sand out.

“Wish you thought of this sooner,” Kyoutani grumbles, and more than anything, Hinata wants _out_ of the desert for good.

—

The sun is hanging heavy in the sky, just beginning to set, casting shades of gold and yellow across the endless sky. It’s just about time to set up camp for the night, and Kyoutani has already found himself a spot in the sand to drop his things. Hinata looks around at the sand, kicking to see if there’s a spot that’d make a better spot then the other areas. The night before, he slept with a rock pressed against the small of his back, something that he’d regretted the moment he woke, enough so that he _healed_ the minor aches and pains away.

“Should we set up traps tonight to catch food?” Hinata asks, wiping his brow of sweat. Their preserves could use replenishing, and as much as Hinata will eat anything he can swallow, the prospect of a fresh meal is one he would never turn down.

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer him. His face face his cautious, stance wide as if anticipating a hit, head tilted towards the west. He closes his eyes, as if to better focus at the task at hand— _listening._

“What do you hear?” Hinata asks in a hushed tone, taking a step closer.

Iwaizumi opens his eyes, a small smile working its way onto his lips. “Music,” he tells him. “Only half a mile out.”

“I wonder what they’re doing out here,” Hinata says, dropping his bag into the sand. It lands with a dull _thud_ and kicks up a small dust cloud that further dirties his shoes. “Is this the only way to get from the east to the west forest?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “You can head north and follow the coastline, or south and travel along the mountains. Either way is longer then cutting right through.”

“Probably a lot less sweaty,” Hinata mumbles. Iwaizumi bumps his shoulder playfully, and Hinata smiles, ear to ear, before sitting down on his bag. “Might as well wait here and see who it is.”

“Wait a couple of minutes,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You’ll hear them before they even come into view.”

No sooner after he says that does Hinata hear laughter, accompanied by the steady beat of drums. A plucked string rings throughout the silent desert evening, a fiddle humming alongside it, loud and joyous and revitalizing, and _gods_ Hinata has missed the simple luxuries of a life where he wasn’t just wandering through a wasteland. The jovial music becomes louder as a caravan rises over the horizon, pulled not by horses, but by two large, lizard-like creatures, lying low to the ground and harnessed around the stomach. The oddities don’t stop there— people hang off of the sides of the cart, the caravan’s sides open canopies that let the wind blow right through. The fiddler sits on the roof, laughing along as he leans in towards one of the boys hanging off the side, butting heads before running his bow along the strings one last time, loud and clear as the the others take the melody away. It’s him who spots them from afar, waving his bow high in the air as if to flag them down.

“Hey, hey you there!” he shouts. “Guys, there’s _people_ here!”

Hinata turns to Iwaizumi, whose scales quickly change back into skin. Kyoutani moves to stand beside them, hand brandishing a stone knife Hinata wasn’t even aware he had. He squints to look closer, then scoffs, putting the knife away and moving to sit back down as the caravan comes closer.

The fiddler and his friends talk loudly as they skid to a halt in front of them, the lizards wagging their tails not unlike a dog would. The driver— a boy with shaggy black hair and wide eyes— tosses them some food as the fiddler jumps down from the roof, bow and fiddle raised above his head. His dress, and those of his companions, is unlike that of Iwaizumi and Hinata’s coarse, sand proof fabric. Instead, he wears pants loose and flowing, dyed a warm yellow, and a top that, while covering his arms from the sun, leaves his midriff bare, exposing a bangle hanging from his navel. His ears are pierced too, and his hair is almost as wide as his eyes, which stare at Hinata in disbelief.

“Holy mother of earth,” he says in awe. “A kid with red hair and a hat that barely fits his head, traveling’ with a buff sword wielding son-of-a-gun— you don’t happen to be who I think you are, are ya?”

Kyoutani groans from where he sits a few paces away, while Hinata merely laughs, entranced by the people hanging out of the caravan staring down at him. It’s brighter now, the inside of their cart illuminated, with warm scents wafting out as the patreons, all in similar states of dress, await his response. “Hello!” Hinata exclaims, taking off his hat as he bows quickly. “I’m Hinata Shouyou, the, um, White Mage!”

“Ohh! You guys, d’you hear this? Bobata! We ran into the White Mage!” the fiddler shouts, turning to face a lanky boy with dusty hair holding a mandolin.

The boy, Bobata grins, sticking his head out of the cart. “What’s the White Mage doin’ in the middle of the desert?”

“Crossing it,” Hinata tells them, eyes wide as he struggles to take in all the sights of the cart. Even now, he begins to notice finer details— golden chains hanging from the canopy, bushels of fruit stacked inside, a stick of burning incense balanced precariously on top of an open instrument case. “Our horse ran off when a tunnel collapsed. It wrecked our caravan, so we’ve been walking for, um, a few days? Five, I think. We’re trying to get to the West Forest.”

“Where are you headed?” Iwaizumi asks them. His eyes flicker curiously between the fiddler and the two lizards pulling the cart, which have stopped to lie down and drink out of a water dish the driver has set out. “I’m Iwaizumi, by the way.”

“Ah, I haven’t introduced myself,” the fiddler laughs. “Terushima Yuuji, travelling musician, at your service! We’re headed to the capital right now, hoping to get an audience with King Daishou himself, if we’re lucky. We’ve heard it pays more than pretty, eh boys?”

A few of the travellers laugh and nod in assent, Bobata strumming wildly on his mandolin as if to prove his musical prowess. Iwaizumi raises a brow at their display, unimpressed. “The bridge over the East River has been destroyed. You can get a boat across, but I’m not sure how much it’ll be.”

“The East is pretty bad for monsters in some areas,” Hinata adds. “I mean, we dealt with the Leviathan, but—”

“Leviathan? Broken bridge?” Terushima says, balking at their words. “You killed a Leviathan?”

“Off topic— you’ll need to go around the river and through the mountains if you want to keep the cart,” Iwaizumi tells them.

“Why’ve we stopped?” a voice mumbles from inside the caravan, tired and feminine. “Why’re you all yelling? I thought I told you that I’m trying to sleep—”

Terushima spins around as a young woman climbs out of the caravan, already in the midst of tying back her bangs. “Hana, the White Mage says we can’t get across the river—”

“I never said that!” Hinata exclaims. “You’d just have to go around, is all.”

Hana rubs her eyes, blinking as she pushes Terushima out of the way to get a good look at Hinata and Iwaizumi. “Huh, so you really are the White Mage,” she says. “I thought Terushima was lying.”

“Hey!”

Hinata looks over to Iwaizumi, who sports a similar expression of exasperation as Hana. Hana presses her hands together and bows, laughing nervously. “I’m sorry for how rude my companions have been,” she says, popping back up with a warm smile. “You must have important stuff to do—”

“Not really, actually,” Terushima interrupts. “Their horse ran off so now they’re walking across the desert!”

“Walking?!” Hana exclaims, eyes widening with concern. “Gods, you must be tough.”

Hinata’s feels his chest swells with pride, rubbing the back of his neck. He watches as Terushima stands up straighter, a grin spreading across his face as he looks smugly between Iwaizumi and Hinata. “I have a proposition to make,” he announces loudly, garnering everyone’s attention. “How about _we_ give you a ride to the west! Might as well double back and kill time while they repair that bridge, huh?”

“Terushima!” Hana hisses, shocked at his proposition. “I— I mean— we’d love to have you both— all, um, three of you,” she amends, looking over to where Kyoutani sits. “But it wouldn’t be for free. We need to make a dollar somehow, and well… you must know how hard it is these days.”

Hinata turns to Iwaizumi, placing a hand on his arm as he looks up at him, eyes pleading. “It’s not a bad offer,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too desperate. “I could conjure all the water needed for the extra people and the, um, lizards, and I’ve got some money to pay.”

Iwaizumi smiles at Hinata, nodding before turning to face Terushima and Hana. “We’ll gladly take your offer,” he tells them, holding out his hand to shake both of theirs. “Will you have enough room?”

“We’ve got plenty!” Bobata calls from inside the caravan. “It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, but you’ll be fine!”

“Thank you,” Hinata says, grinning at the prospect of a smooth ride across the rest of the desert. “Thank you, thank you, _thank you,_ oh my gods, thank you!”

“Alright! A deal’s a deal, so come on in!” Terushima yells, handing his fiddle and bow to Bobata. “Here, we keep the bags on the underside of the carriage, I’ll give you a hand.”

As they pack their things away, Hinata pulls Iwaizumi aside, watching as Kyoutani clamours up into the caravan with a look of utter horror at Terushima’s extroversion. “Do you trust them?” Hinata whispers. “I don’t _think_ they’re bad but—”

“We’ll see,” Iwaizumi tells him, ruffling his hair. “I doubt a pack of travelling musicians will be the most dangerous thing we’ve faced.”

Hinata nods, smiling as Terushima waves at them to come in. At the end of the day, he’ll take any nicety he can find, seek the kindness of any stranger and give to them what they’ve gifted in return. As they squeeze into the back of the caravan and pass around their provisions to eat, the music and lights and vanilla scented incense fills Hinata with a moment of much needed relaxation after weeks in the sun, a moment to lean against Iwaizumi and smile wide as the tune of the fiddle and the smack of the spoons against knees and instruments he can’t even name. Slowly, amidst the joy and the laughter, Hinata drifts off into sleep, sure that whatever tomorrow may bring, he’ll be able to face it.

—

Something grows within the depths of the West Forest. Out of the dark earth, it rises, a phoenix from a fire darker than salvation, hotter than the depths of wrath in a human heart. Oikawa can feel it like he feels any other of his creations, tugging at his hands, whispering in his ear. It’s an itch he can't scratch, if itches were deep aches that hurt long after the bruise has faded away.

This tower protects him, with its wilted ivy and crumbling brick, not from the outsiders looking in, but from witnessing terror struck by his own accord. By all means, he should never witness another loss of life with his own two eyes. By all means, nothing should touch him here.

But magic doesn’t work in the means of a human. Magic sneaks into the threads of his woven existence and nests behind his eyes so that when he blinks, he can watch a child die. When he blinks, he will watch the world burn, will watch a body fall, will watch another rise with a contorted smile and a reflection of his own fire in their eyes. When his ears ring and his mind goes numb, he can hear every scream and cry and plea as if whispered beside him. When his hands start to shake, the licks of flame swallow him whole, and the aura wraps its arms around him, cradles his heart and leaves him to find comfort in all he knows.

Oikawa cannot see his destiny. His guidance is nothing but a thousand webs suspending him between the easy and the painful, the evil and twisted, the cruel, the misfortunate. Oikawa does not know what will come, but something climbs up his spine with the speed of molasses, settling on the nape of his neck and weaving dread into the hairs that rise.

Something grows within the depths of the West Forest. The wind blows, and the flame rises.

—

The travelling group of musicians, apparently, has a name, as Hinata learns on the first full day of travelling. _The Johzenji Bardic Group_ consists of Terushima the fiddler, Bobata the mandolinist, Tsuchiyu the flutist, Futamata the harmonica player, Higashiyama the guitarist, Numajiri the harpist, and Iizaka, who plays everything else. Hana works as their manager, keeping the boys under as close of a wrap as she can. Despite living in the tight quarters of the caravan, it’s a daunting task. Terushima hardly comes down from his spot on the solid roof, and no one else sits still, everyone in a constant state of climbing motion to get somewhere or another. Hana gives up on trying to make themselves look reputable when they’re serenaded by a rendition of the nations anthem on harmonica. By that point, she collapses down beside Kyoutani, who grumbles, but notes her exasperation and makes no move to scare her off.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Iwaizumi says to her, moving to sit across from her and Kyoutani. “Are you not missing your audience with the King?”

Hana laughs lightly, shaking her head. “We never had one in the first place,” she admits. “But Terushima got it in his head from a woman at a bar that the King will take audience with performers if need be, and when he gets something in his head, it’s hard to get it out.”

Iwaizumi nods as a sharp note rings out through the caravan as Terushima tunes his fiddle, boasting loudly to someone or another. “I can see that,” he tells her. “When you get to the palace, you can use my name to get in.”

“Whoa!” Bobata exclaims, leaning over top of Kyoutani, who immediately struggles to try and fight him off. “You saying you can get us audience with the King? Guys, you hear this?”

Kyoutani shoves him off, the cart rocking slightly as Bobata rolls and laughs. Kyoutani grumbles, rubbing his shoulder and scowling. “He never said that, dumbass.”

“Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi says, voice commanding. “It’s fine.”

Kyoutani stares Bobata down for a moment before relaxing and curling back up into his ball. If there’s one person he’ll take advice from, or at the very least listen to, it’s Iwaizumi. That small ounce of respect keeps the tension from spoiling the bright atmosphere of the caravan, leaving everyone to continue on with their merry ways.

It’s much simpler travelling in such a large group. The few tasks such as preparing a meal and switching driving duties fly by with the abundance of hands, leaving plenty of time for relaxing and picking a tune. They stop when the lizards need to rest and sleep on loosely ordered shifts, all half tied and ends maybes and in betweens. The lack of rigid structure makes it easy to forget the days of strenuous travel on foot, and soon, Iwaizumi, Hinata, and Kyoutani have recovered from their exhaustion and windburn, letting the curiosities of the Johzenji crew sweep them away.

Some of the oddities are simple in explanation. They all dress in desert-dancer finery simply because they couldn’t afford better-suited travel wear, and their caravan was meant originally to be a farmer’s cart at a market. Through various methods of carpentry, the cart became mobile, afixed with magical lanterns, though the awning stayed in tact.  Other facts are less familiar, like the two lizards that pull the cart. One night, while the cart has stopped and the sun has sunk down beyond the horizon, Hinata went out to fill their dishes with water, only one of them to lick the side of his face.

“Dog-lizards,” Terushima tells him from the roof of the caravan, grinning wide as he tucks his fiddle under his chin.

“Is— is that what they’re really called?” Hinata asks, giggling as the other lizard nuzzles their head under his arm.

Terushima shrugs with his free arm and begins to play, raising his brows at Hinata. “Dunno. Does it matter?” he asks. “C’mon and get back inside before we leave you behind.”

“Right!” Hinata says, patting the lizard closest to him on the head before climbing back into the caravan. Terushima hops down from his perch and follows him in, ducking in through the driver’s window as Tsuchiyu fastens the reigns to start moving. It’s a game of hopscotch to find a spot to sit, but Hinata lucks out with a seat atop a pile of boxes, elevating him to look down at Iwaizumi, who sits across from him, holding Higashiyama’s guitar in his hands. His nails have been clipped down so that he can press on the strings, and although slow and careful, he manages to play a soft tune that matches the soft look in his eyes as he places his hands on the fretboard.

“Whatcha up to?” Hinata asks him, kicking his feet against the boxes.

Iwaizumi looks up, continuing to play. “I’ve been recruited,” he deadpans. “They’ve coerced me into their band.”

His humour warms Hinata’s chest, makes him laugh as the yellow glow of the lanterns and the haze of incense swarms around them. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, enjoying Iwaizumi’s song for a moment before Terushima swoops in.

“Yo, you did it!” he shouts, extending his arms, smacking them into two people. “Higashiyama, he really did it! Now all we gotta do is get Kyoutani and Hinata playing and that’s a whole crew!”

“I think Iizaka is trying to get him to play the drums,” Bobata chimes in from the floor, pulling on the leg of Terushima’s pants. “Get out some of those repressed emotions, y’know?”

Terushima spins around to face Hinata, eyes glinting as he places a hand on his hip. “Guess all that’s left is you then, hm?” he teases, an aura of mischief rising from the way he grins. “So, whaddya say? Wanna learn how to _play the_ _fiddle?”_

Hinata’s eyes light up as he jumps off of his makeshift chair, hardly stumbling when he lands. “Of course!” he exclaims, gleaming with excitement. “You’ll teach me?”

“Duh, who else can? I’m the best teacher outta this lot,” he brags, strutting behind Hinata to tuck the fiddle into the crook of his neck. “And I’ve got a feeling your a fast learner.”

Hinata’s cheeks are brushed with pink at the praise, a giddy giggle leaving his lips. “I guess you can say that, I mean, I picked up magic pretty fast, so...” he laughs, trying to stand still as Terushima wraps his arms around him, holding his hands and guiding them to hold the fiddle upright.

“Place your fingers _here,”_ he instructs, ducking down so that his mouth rests closer to his ear. “Remember to drop your wrist and press down hard, alright?”

“Like this?” Hinata asks, biting his lip in concentration as he adjusts his hold on the instrument.

“Exactly,” Terushima says, no less enthusiasm in his voice even at a lower volume. “Now you press down your first finger, and I’ll— _ack!”_ He shouts, cut off as he pulls away from Hinata and hops on one leg. Hinata turns, following his gaze down to Iwaizumi, who nonchalantly picks back up his tune on the guitar.

“Sorry,” he tells him, voice level and not sounding apologetic at all. “Accident.”

Terushima blinks, face contouring in confusion before something akin to realization washes over him. “Oh,” he says. “Ohhhh, I see— well, Hinata, I think I’ll teach you another time,” he says, swiping the fiddle from his hands with a knowing smile and a wink. “You two have fun, then!”

“Terushima?” Hinata says, watching as he climbs back out of the caravan and onto the roof. “Huh, must’ve gotten bored.”

Iwaizumi hums, somewhat curtly. “Yeah, must’ve been that.”

“Oh well!” Hinata says, plopping down onto the ground next to Iwaizumi, grinning up at him. “Why don’t you play me a song, Mr. Musician?”

Iwaizumi’s smile returns, golden green eyes glowing in the warm light of the caravan as he begins to strum another tune. The soft music and the scratch of calloused fingertips sliding against metal string accompanies a melody Hinata hasn’t heard, one that has him tapping his fingers on his knee and watching Iwaizumi’s hands pluck the strings.

“Something tells me you already knew how to play,” Hinata teases, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

“You got me,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Matsukawa taught me a few years back. It gives me a way to occupy my hands.”

Hinata doesn’t respond, simply letting the silence between them be filled with the the music Iwaizumi makes. Hinata listens, content, resisting the urge to let his head fall onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. His eyes droop against his will, though, the desert heat having drained the energy from his bones and coaxing him closer towards sleep.

“Are you falling asleep?” Iwaizumi asks him, voice soft and toned with something akin to amusement. “I can stop, if it’d make it any easier for you.”

“No, don’t,” Hinata whines playfully, giving in and leaning his head onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “It’s nice to hear.”

The music stops for half a second only to pick up again, taking on a tempo that almost mimics the slow beat of Hinata’s heart. He lets Hinata lie there, pressed up against his shoulder as he plays, feeling the warmth of his breath ghosting along the side of his neck as the rest of the world melts away.

“May you find crystal in your rest,” Iwaizumi murmurs, and Hinata stirs, just slightly, not moving enough to jostle, but enough so that he can speak.

“What does that mean?” he asks, voice less accusatory and more curious, like this has been a thought that’s been burning slow in the back of his head.

Iwaizumi has to stop to think about it, letting music fill his silence while he comes up with the words. “I’ve never had to explain it before,” he admits. “It’s a… proverb of sorts. Something my mother would say to me, to tell me to keep safe. ”

“A dragon proverb,” Hinata says, awe still clear in his voice even through the tones of sleep. “Neat.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, humming warm and low. He continues to play, and doesn’t stop until Hinata’s breathing slows and evens out. Even then, he doesn't move from his place, tucking the guitar away beside him and letting Hinata stay as is, nestled close enough that if Iwaizumi really listens, through the chatter and the laughter and the wind, he can hear his heartbeat. Iwaizumi knows that his own has picked up in turn against his own iron crafted will, that there’s a feeling bubbling deep in his stomach, fluttering in his chest. Slowly, he lets his eyes close as well, and falls deeper into the sensation, deeper into the unknown, and deeper into the truth he’s known all along.

—

In the darkness before the break of dawn, the desert bites. Air thin without moisture to holds heat bites cool into Hinata’s skin in the early morning hours he spends awake, sitting atop the roof of the moving caravan as Iwaizumi drives. Like this, he can see for miles on end, can watch the Earth curve and the thin stripe of light from the rising sun illuminate the sweeping dunes. It’s silent now, the air still with the chaos of Johzenji tamed in the early hour. Hinata’s hat sits in his lap, his staff placed atop it, lying across his thighs. The caravan picks up enough speed to pull the air against his cheeks, to tousle his hair as he reaches his fingers out to touch the skyline and wonder what part of him is aching now.

It’s slowly begun to grow stronger, ever since the last meeting with Oikawa after the run in with the Miya twins. Something has inched its way under his skin and made its home in his bones, hollowing out his breast bone and leaving him yearning for _something,_ _someone_ he should never have. At its best it’s unsettling, and at its worse it leaves him with a kind of pain that maps every nerve in his body. It's undeniable that this pain is linked to Oikawa— that much he knows. Whether his existence is the source or something greater still, Hinata isn’t sure. Only now can he ponder it, when the silence of the world around him suffocates all other distractions, when the words of the oracle’s providence comes back to sweep over him.

_Abscond from the jaws of death;_

_Find life in the bringer of dark fire._

_He who has razed will steal your breath,_

_Replaced with a revelation you may acquire._

They make as much sense to him now as they did when they were first spoken, but Hinata never had hoped to make sense of the oracle’s words. At best, he hopes to understand the force behind it, what drives his destiny further and what ties the strings between him and the Dark Mage.

But he can’t focus on any of it now— not the ache, not the oracle, not his duty, divine or otherwise. Something else vys for his attention, something dark enough that it makes his nose wrinkle, the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Stomach twisting, Hinata grips his staff in one hand, planting the other flat on the roof of the caravan so that his palm presses flush against the wood. Slowly, he transfers an enchantment through the coarse grain of the wood, through the stitching of the cotton canopies and the sleeping bodies of its patrons. Iwaizumi perks up as it washes over him, a soft glow radiating around the caravan for half a second before fading to nothing. Hinata sighs softly, rolling out his shoulders as he puts back on his hat and scooches off of the roof to sit down beside Iwaizumi.

“Was that a protective spell?” Iwaizumi asks as he settles, tucking the reigns under his legs. He yawns slightly— Hinata doesn’t doubt he’d enjoy another hour of two of sleep, but he also doesn't doubt he’d ever skimp out on a task assigned to him.  

Hinata nods, leaning back against the caravan. “I felt something… off,” he tells him. “I’m not sure if that means anything.”

Iwaizumi furrows his brows. “Coming from you, it does.” He slows down the speed of their cart and ties the reigns off, giving Hinata his full attention. “Can you tell what it is?”

“Something dark… something not right,” Hinata tells him, looking out at the horizon once more. “It isn’t moving, though. It’s like—” he pauses, thinking of the right word to describe the slight-shot tension in his muscles. “It’s like its waiting.”

Iwaizumi stands, reaching into the caravan to grab his sword from where it leans on the wall, skin exchanged for scales. In doing so, he jostles a barely awake Hana, drawing her attention to the pair and the slowing cart. Rubbing her eyes, she watches Hinata stand, looking between the two in confusion.

“Wha—why are we slowing down?” she asks, before looking Iwaizumi up and down in shock. “What are— what happened to your skin?”

“They’re dragon scales, and there’s something out here,” he tells her, voice low as the cart stops. He jumps off into the sand, Hinata following in suit, but not before throwing up an extra shield around the perimeter of the caravan.

“What did you—” Hana asks, looking nervous as she plays with the soft fabric of her skirt.

“It’s okay,” Hinata tells her, smiling despite the coil in his chest. “There’s a double barrier around the caravan. If you stay there, nothing will hurt you.”

She nods, hugging the wall as Iwaizumi and Hinata hold their breaths for the monster that lies in wait. Nothing changes at first, the desert as still as it had been a moment before. Before anything more can happen, the wind picks up in a single column of air, picking up sand and dust that blows but doesn’t reach the two or the caravan. It swirls with the ferocity of a hurricane, morphing into an inky black mass that squirms and jolts, the twister no longer moving by nature's accord. Both Hinata and Iwaizumi jump back an instant before it explodes, viscous black fluid falling onto the sand and staining the ground. In the epicentre stands five creatures, each identical in height, though they stand hunched over, arms dangling at their sides. In the growing morning light, their red eyes glow, their hooked talons, thick as a blade, shine. More black ooze drips off of their blackened robes, sliding down their skeletal like faces and dripping into their open sockets. Eerie smiles are mirrored among the four across faces fixed in time as they straighten in perfect unison, head rising to look Iwaizumi and Hinata in the eye.

And then, they vanish.

Iwaizumi moves a split second before Hinata, giving him a warning in the form of a swing of a sword to throw up a shield just as one of the creatures attempts to pounce him. Its robe slides along the shield with a splat as it bashes its head against it, as if trying to shatter it. Iwaizumi, managing to have outmaneuvered the other two, jumps up behind it and slashes it across the back, cutting the creature in two. With his enchanted blade, the wound deals enough damage that the creature is left to wither in the sand, unmoving.

“They can move fast,” Iwaizumi tells him as they catch their breath. “If you can’t track their movements, throw up a shield.”

Hinata’s response is cut off when the creature they thought to have killed screeches, reaching to swipe its talons at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi jumps back at the same time Hinata raises up his staff, summoning a bolt of lightning to shoot down and hit the creature. It illuminates the entire horizon with a flash of white that burns, eating away at the black ooze on the skeleton until it’s left bone dry.

The second Iwaizumi had stepped back, the remaining three creatures made their attack, launching themselves at him from all sides. With expert swordsmanship, Iwaizumi swings his sword in an arc that catches all three of them and pushes them back, their ooze flingings outwards to land on the sand. One of the creatures hisses, the ooze beside it beginning to amalgamate with its dripping robe. Divided, one of the creatures moves again to aim for Iwaizumi, attempting to grab at him with its extended talons, but is kept at bay by a sword slash across its chest. The robe slices in two and falls to the ground, exposing a rib cage filled with more of the inky goo. Gritting his teeth, Iwaizumi looks down at his sword, watching as it burns off the dark ooze, unlike the sand, which absorbs it completely.

Meanwhile, Hinata aims a ball of energy at a creature that barrells towards him, growing it to shoot off in a wide arc that holds it at bay. He holds his staff steady as it struggles against the sheer force of the white light, its blackened ooze peeled away. In fighting it off, Hinata almost misses the sound of bones cracking behind him— a split second later, he’s met with the sight of another creature. His free hand bursts aflame in response as he shoots fire towards its skull, lighting the ooze inside of it on fire as the other creature turns to dust under the force of his magic. With both of his enemies incapacitated for a moment, Hinata spares a glance over to the caravan, reaffirming that it remains untouched, albeit with those inside peeking out through the windows in wonder of what all the noise is about, mixed reactions of astonishment and horror painted on their faces.

In the split second it takes for his attention to be diverted, the flaming creature dashes towards Iwaizumi head on, poised to barrel into his side. Quick on his feet, Iwaizumi _throws_ his sword, the blade flying through the air to cut clean through the creatures neck, decapitating it in one swift motion as the other creature lunges for him. He dodges, but as he draws his dagger and runs back to fetch his sword, he feels one single claw grace the scales of his stomach, barely grazing along his abdomen that sparks a primal instinct.  

Iwaizumi drops the dagger and turns, jaw dropped and eyes ablaze as fire pours from his mouth, claws of his own extended in rage. The fire burns bright red as he turns, engulfing the area around him in flames, catching the creature in his raze.

“Holy mother of gods,” Hinata whispers. He watches, dumbstruck as Iwaizumi turns to him, wisps of smoke and flames still escaping his mouth through his laboured breaths. He meets Hinata’s eyes, except instead of the same rage, or kindness, or authority Hinata knows, he sees something else, something absolutely _terrifying._

As the creature Iwaizumi had just burned crumples into ash, the fifth and final monster reappears, leaping at Iwaizumi with its claws outstretched, black, oozing cape billowing behind it. In one swift motion, Iwaizumi ducks down and rolls, grabbing his sword as he stands back up and surges with speed Hinata can hardly track to swing the sword across the creature’s chest. It swipes clean through, the black ooze splattering onto the sand, a splash of it hitting Iwaizumi’s cheek.

The effect is immediate. Iwaizumi vision doubles, his sword slipping out of his hand as his eyes widen to try and make sense of the scrambled world around him. His body refuses to move, weighed down by something unseen. He tremors as panic shoots through him, mouth falling agape as his breath shortens. It takes every ounce of strength he has to look up and meet Hinata’s tearing eyes.

“There’s something wrong with this ooze! Don’t— don’t let it touch you!” he shouts, his voice wavering as he staggers back. “Shouyou be—”

Suddenly, the creature screams and reaches out its taloned hand, ripping it across Iwaizumi’s abdomen. It leaves a deep gash in its wake that slices through the scales as easy as water, leaving Iwaizumi to stumble backwards and fall down onto his back. The creature rears up above him with its claws—

Hinata’s mind goes blank, white with static as the world around him seems to move in slow motion. He doesn’t feel his body as it moves, staff outstretched as a large blast of white magic leaves it. It lights up the entire desert for a moment, catching the monster up in white hot energy as it burns to a crisp. Distantly, he can hear the monster’s shrill cry, the gasps and shouts coming from the caravan **.** He hears a scream— his own, he thinks— and sand being kicked up as his body runs towards Iwaizumi. The world begins to catch up to him as he falls to his knees right by Iwaizumi’s side, hands hovering and shaking, eyes clouded with tears as he watches Iwaizumi’s chest rise and fall with shallow, pained breaths.

His hands shake as he holds them a hairs length away from Iwaizumi’s skin, mind clouded, swarming with worries and the sight of Iwaizumi— someone he once thought to be practically invincible— laying nearly lifeless at his side. He distantly registers the members of Johzenji rushing to his side, pulling him up as they make easy work out of lifting Iwaizumi and carrying him back to the caravan, careful not to jostle him or touch the wound. The black ick has since seeped into his face, staining his cheek black. Hinata warns the others— he thinks he warns the others, he _hears_ himself warning the others— as they clear a spot on the floor of the caravan and lie him down so that Hinata can hover over him once more.

“Can’t you heal him, or something?” someone asks. A part of Hinata’s mind clears as he thinks, _yes, yes, I can heal him, he’ll be okay._

Hinata’s eyes tear away from the expression of pain on Iwaizumi’s features to look down at the the gash across his stomach. Slowly, he places the head of his staff above it, channeling every ounce of magic under his skin into stitching the scales back together, thinking, _why hasn’t he healed himself?_ as the wound slowly closes. The soft healing glow fades, but the ooze’s stain does not, stuck on Iwaizumi’s cheek as his face contorts, eyes squeezing tighter as he mumbles.

“What the hell is that?” someone whispers, and it echoes Hinata’s same train of thought as he closes his eyes and feels out the magic, sensing only darkness, the same darkness he’s been acquainted with too many times— from the leviathan’s fog, from the King’s curse, from the monster that almost killed his sister. It’s the mark of the Dark Mage’s magic, empty blackness without end, one that sends a shiver through Hinata and cools the entire atmosphere of the room. He washes another wave of white light over Iwaizumi in attempt to banish it, watching his scales glow an iridescent green, the black ick not moving at all.

Hinata feels his face twist up in fear as he leans over Iwaizumi, placing a hand on his cheek where the black stain is, trying in vain to perhaps wipe it away. It doesn’t work, Hinata’s mind scrambling trying to find an answer, anything at all. Iwaizumi’s breathing hasn’t yet evened out, and his face feels almost hot with what Hinata could only guess is fever. He hears a sob leave him and a hand on his shoulder that he doesn’t fight off, words and promises of _he’ll be okay, don’t worry about it, you did what you could_ bouncing off him. Hinata shakes his head, because he should be strong enough, he _has to be strong enough, or else—_

Exhaustion washes over him like a tidal wave on the beach, dragging down his body and mind under the current. He lets himself be tugged away, urged to rest.

_Blue stone, dread, and bone flash through his mind._

He’s not sure if he can.

—

Iwaizumi wakes after a day and a half of slipping in and out of consciousness in a cold sweat, swallowing roughly as he attempts to sit up. He’s met with a hand on his shoulder to keep him down and another two on his face— one holding his cheek, the other pressing up against his forehead. He blinks, and through blurred sight he focuses to see Hinata looking down at him with worry on his face and relief in his eyes.

“Hajime, can you hear me?” Hinata asks, and though his words sound as if they were spoken underwater, he can. Iwaizumi mumbles something he hopes sounds like _yes_ and attempts to sit up again, head pounding at the slightest movement, body aching and proving that moving isn’t a good idea.

“What…” he says, mouth dry and rough, speech slurred.

“The ooze,” Hinata tells him, somehow understanding his unspoken question. “It was poisonous, we think. But... I can’t get rid of it.”

Iwaizumi lifts his hand, heavier than it should be, to feel his abdomen, searching for the wound. When he finds only scales, he lets his head lean back against the floor, eyes closing. “Thank you,” he tells him.

Iwaizumi feels something wet drip on his cheek. He cracks his eyes open to see Hinata— face red, blotchy, eyes swollen as his tears fall. “But— Hajime I didn’t heal the the poison, it’s still in you, I—”

“Do—doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, weakly lifting his hand to place it over the one on his cheek. “You will. I trust you.” A sob leaves Hinata’s throat. Through Iwaizumi’s garbled sight and mind, he can see the panic in Hinata’s eyes, can process the fear behind the trembling of his body. “M’not gonna die,” he says, a light laugh leaving him in hopes to lift Hinata’s spirit. “Takes more than some ooze to kill me.” A wobbly smile makes its way onto Hinata’s face, lighting a soft flame in Iwaizumi’s chest unrelated to the fever.

 _Ah, that’s better,_ he thinks as he closes his eyes. He can hear the soft voice of Hana nearby, saying something about _food_ and _water,_ which would usually appeal to Iwaizumi’s monster appetite, now simply makes him aware of how hungry he _isn’t_. It sits uncomfortably in his stomach as Hinata’s hands slip under his shoulders, propping him up on an ornate pillow. Sitting like this, Iwaizumi can watch him move about— his shoulders are too tense, too much like his own, and his hands worry between playing with his pants and hanging midair without task. Hana passes him a bowl and a glass, which Hinata sets down beside Iwaizumi’s head, eyes softening once he’s realized his eyes have opened.

“Hungry?” Hinata asks, scooping what looks like mashed fruits up from the bowl.

“Ngh… Not really, but I should probably eat anyway,” he tells him, opening his mouth wide enough for Hinata to feed him. The tables are turned from how they were a month ago, when Hinata was weakened and beaten and left vulnerable in his arms. Now he lies here, succumbing to Hinata’s care, unused to this level of weakness but faithful with every ounce of his being that Hinata would never let him be hurt. The mashed fruits taste sugary, ripe and refreshing, almost as sweet as Hinata’s smile when Iwaizumi swallows and opens his mouth for more.

His feelings for Hinata can’t subdue the lingering frustration in the back of his mind. He knows when he’s beaten, knows that Hinata was there to rely on, but an injury like the one he’s taken that leaves him feeble is one uncomfortably new. Iwaizumi is not a vulnerable person. He knows he’s stronger than what he’s been reduced to, knows and knows and _understands_ what strength means, but frustration and bitterness rise like bile in his throat and turn the lingering taste of sweetness sour. Hinata helps him drink water, and not even that can wash away the guilt of becoming a burden on the one he’s supposed to protect.

He doesn’t have to think about it much longer. Eating drains all of the energy he regained and weighs him down, his eyes drooping as he begins to nod off, slipping back down into a lying position. As he blinks to try and keep his eyes open, he spots Hinata smiling fondly, an expression that barely reaches his eyes as he tucks the pillow under Iwaizumi’s head and leaves the cup of water beside him.

“May… may you find crystal in your rest,” he whispers, and Iwaizumi’s heart squeezes so tight he thinks it may burst. And there’s a saying about dragons, and how much they care. And Iwaizumi knows it to be true, that a dragon’s heart is bigger than anything a human could know, and if he loves Hinata even a fraction, he loves him with his all. In the haze between sleep and consciousness, with fever wracking his bones, Iwaizumi presses his head to Hinata’s thigh and hums when his hand combs through his hair. This closeness is all he needs for now, for he will be vulnerable and he will be trapped in this body and he will be weak, but Hinata will never let him go. Hinata would never let him leave.

—

The caravan is noticeably subdued. Though music is still played, it’s quieter and mellow, as if the musicians realized the tone of the day and adapted their setlist to fit the mood. Hinata appreciates it if only so Iwaizumi can rest, can sweat out the fever that grapples with him. The black stain on his face has yet to vanish, instead darkening and spreading, draining the colour from any scales around it. When he wakes, Iwaizumi’s face shows his bravery, shows strength and none of the pain he must feel. When he sleeps, all the truth is left to shine through whimpers and twitching eyes, dry lips and fitful sleep. It leaves a foul taste in Hinata’s mouth as he leaves Iwaizumi’s side to take his shift as driver, grabbing a piece of bread on his way.

Hana is still sitting there when he arrives, legs crosses with the reins in her lap. Her shoulders are littered with freckles, like Hinata’s, a gift from the sun that warms her skin as the cart moves along. She offers Hinata a gentle smile, passing him the reigns and scooting over so that he can sit next to her.

“Thank you,” Hinata tells her, only, it's through a mouthful of bread, which doesn’t convey the sincerity of his words. She laughs a little at that, brightening the mood enough that when Hinata swallows, the world loosenes its hold around his neck.

“Have you encountered monsters like that in the desert already?” Hana asks him, leaning back onto her elbows.

Hinata nods, breaking her off a piece of bread. She takes it as he answers. “One, but it wasn’t as hard to kill,” he tells her. “The East forest had a bit more, but everyone says the West is worst.”

Hana grimaces at that, chewing her piece of bread. “It’s… something, alright. We move from town to town, but its hard getting business. People don’t want to go outdoors. Supplies from the East don’t exist— almost every town is either self sufficient or dependent on Fukurotoshi, the biggest city up north.” She sighs. “People just go… missing, and everyone accepts it.”

“Have you seen any monsters before?” Hinata asks her, tossing a piece of bread for the lizards.

Hana smiles weakly at that. “If I did, I wouldn’t’ve lived to tell the tale,” she tells him. “Not everyone is as strong as you and Iwaizumi. We’re lucky you were here with us. Everyone wants to thank you.”

Hinata relaxes his shoulders, lighting up slightly. “I’m just doing what I can to help,” he tells her in earnest, taking another bite of his bread. “You’re doing us a huge favour by driving us across the desert— why wouldn’t we help?”

Hana’s smile widens as she nods, looking back out at the desert horizon. They both watch it creep closer for awhile before she stretches her arms and cracks her back, hoisting herself up and dusting off her flowing dress.

“Well, if you need me, I’ll be making sure the boys don’t kill each other,” she tells him, stepping back into the cart. “Your shift is up once it’s high noon. I think we’re gonna stop then and let the dog-lizards break.”

Hinata nods dutifully, before breaking out into a grin. “You call them that too?”

She sighs, shrugging her shoulders. “After this long? It’s hard not for Terushima to rub off on me.”

With that, she leaves Hinata be as someone begins picking a tune on a harp, another joining in on flute. The soft music accompanies his wandering thoughts and worries as the caravan trudges through the sand. Through magic or common knowledge or something else entirely, Hinata senses Iwaizumi nearby, still alive, still breathing. It settles his mind only slightly, because the image of the spreading darkness on Iwaizumi’s cheek strikes a minor chord inside of his heart, boils it down to fear and anger and uncertainty of his own powers, uncertainty over whether he’s earned the trust Iwaizumi has placed with him, because Iwaizumi has trusted his _life_ with him and Hinata’s hands still shake. It shakes him and all Hinata can do is stop, and breathe, and focus. Because if Iwaizumi trusts him, then that trust must be earned.

—

The sky shifts to black, and opens up to reveal constellations bright enough to illuminate the desert even without the sun. Hinata stares up at them, lying on the roof of the caravan. They’ve stopped for the night to let the lizards rest, leaving Hinata to feel stagnant for the first time in weeks. Everyone else crowds around the roaring fire, with their instruments tuned and bellies full, minds wandering to and fro with songs and words made up on the spot. Hinata would join them, _wants_ to join them, but his chest has gotten weighed down with too much to even consider moving. Between hopeless longing for something he can’t reach, and the exhaustion of trying to figure out how to save Iwaizumi, he’s left in a spiral of faking his positivity and praying that all will turn out okay.

Slowly, Hinata traces the stars with his hand, remembers all the names Iwaizumi had taught him. It feels like so long ago— maybe he’s feeding into his own melodrama. Still, it hurts in the same way as bruised ribs, churns what’s left in his stomach and leaves him to ache in solitary.

Or, it _does,_ until Kyoutani invites himself up onto the roof with Hinata. He’d be good silent company if he didn’t leave Hinata on edge, since every single thing he does leaves Hinata to wonder if he hates or just tolerates him. He stays silent for half a minute before it becomes nothing short of overwhelming, and clears his throat.

“Getting away from the noise?” Hinata attempts as conversation. Kyoutani grunts in return, leaving Hinata without a follow up. He looks over to Kyoutani, who blinks owlishly before holding out a skewer of various vegetables and meat. Hinata stares at in confusion as Kyoutani scowls.

“Take it,” Kyoutani states bluntly. “You’re hungry, right?”

 _Not really,_ Hinata thinks, with the weight on his chest killing his appetite. Regardless of the anxiety gripping him, he takes the skewer with a mumbled _thanks._ Kyoutani nods as he does, looking away before tilting his chin to the stars. As Hinata picks at his food, he watches his face change, from stiff jawed suspicion to wide eyed wonder as the night sky twinkles above them.

“Never seen stars before,” Kyoutani mumbles in a way that makes Hinata think it’s more to himself than to him.

Hinata pauses, letting the words mull over before he looks up at the sky himself. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?” he says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kyoutani shrug.

“Guess so,” Kyoutani says, gaze lowering to the horizon.

A moment passes through, bringing along with it the first comfortable silence Hinata has ever had with Kyoutani. It sparks a flame of courage within him, just enough to push him to open his mouth.

“What was it like?” Hinata asks. Kyoutani glances over at him. “Y’know. Living underground.”

A scowl makes its way onto Kyoutani’s face, but it’s not hostile like all the times before. “Normal.” He pauses. “Darker. Wetter.”

“Wetter?” Hinata asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“Damper,” he corrects. “There’s a big river feeding a lake. S’where we lived. Before what happened.”

Hinata hesitates. “What… happened, exactly?” he asks.

“Lake started to dry up, so we moved further west ‘nd followed the river.” Kyoutani pauses, hesitates, mouth twisting further. “This huge… thing came ‘nd wrecked everything. Never saw it myself. Just heard the screams and the tunnel collapsing.” He props his head up on his knees and arms. “Next thing I knew, you guys show up and whatever. You know what happens next.”

“How’d you get up to the surface?” Hinata asks.

“Escaped by myself. One of the sides of the tunnel was climbable, so I booked it outta there,” Kyoutani answers. “Got pretty messed up on the way, though.”

Hinata nods, remembering how he found him— battered, bruised, and on the brink of dehydration. Quiet contemplation fuels their silence as the two stare up at the stars, a faint breeze rolling through their hair. It’s Kyoutani who speaks next, surprising Hinata no more than he already has.

“Things are… different, here,” Kyoutani mumbles. “You care about money ‘nd some King. We don’t— didn’t have any of that.”

“Did you have monsters?” Hinata asks.

Kyoutani nods. “Yeah. Guess they’re… Dark Mage’s, or whatever,” he tells him. “Knew a few magic users. Healers, mostly. A few people who could fix whatever the monsters did to them.”

“What the monsters did to them?” Hinata asks, furrowing his brow.

“Curses, or some shit,” Kyoutani grumbles. “Don’t know, never bothered to find out.”

It hits Hinata like a punch to the stomach, making him jolt up and stand so quickly the cart sways. Kyoutani looks at him as if he grew three heads, but Hinata is too busy grabbing his staff to care.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouts, voice carrying as Hinata jumps into the  cart.

“Curses!” he shouts back. “Hajime— the ooze— it’s gotta be _cursed!”_

Kyoutani yells something else, but Hinata isn’t listening anymore. He kneels down beside the sleeping Iwaizumi, glancing over the stain that has begun to spread down his neck. He pauses, just to brush a hand across his forehead, before raising his staff beside Iwaizumi’s cheek and closing his eyes.

It’s not like the mangled web of a curse that existed with Daishou. Though dark, it’s not nearly as black, and in seconds, Hinata is unravelling it, a brilliant white light filling the caravan, garnering the attention of the others. When it subsides, there’s a crowd around the windows and a murmuring that doesn’t go unnoticed to Hinata, but he doesn’t care, because in front of him is Iwaizumi, stirring and opening his eyes, slowly sitting up as if having woken from a rather long nap, rubbing his eyes and blinking away sleep. Slowly, his fingers touch his cheek and then his neck as he looks up to meet Hinata’s eyes with a tired grin that’s wider than Hinata has seen it before. Hinata smiles back, beaming bright.

“You did it, like I knew you would,” he says, eyes scrunching up as his smile grows.

Hinata laughs, giddy and relieved. “It wasn’t poison, it was a curse, I don’t know how I missed it, I—” He shakes his head, smile pulling so tight his cheeks hurt. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Iwaizumi laughs, low and rumbling as he reaches to ruffle Hinata’s hair, albeit lacking the force he’d usually exert. “I wouldn’t say I’m one hundred percent just yet, it drained more out of me than I expected. But I do feel a lot better, thanks to you,” he says. “Sorry for worrying you, Shouyou.”

Hinata shakes his head again. “You don’t have to apologize for that!” he says, shifting to cross his legs, knees pressing against Iwaizumi’s.

“Uh, guys!” Futamata shouts from the front. “Sorry to interrupt the heartfelt, touching moment, but there’s something coming and it’s coming fast!” Dread pools in Hinata’s stomach as he shoots upright. Iwaizumi struggles to get on his feet, and Hinata urges for him to stay down.

“You still need to rest,” Hinata says carefully. Iwaizumi shoots him a look, only to stumble and grit his teeth as he bumps into a stack of crates. “See? Like you said, you’re still drained, so don’t push yourself.” Hinata smiles, an attempt at easing Iwaizumi’s worries as he sits back down. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to look.”

He begins to stand up, only for Iwaizumi to grab onto his arm. Hinata looks down at him, surprised. “Be safe,” Iwaizumi tells him. Hinata nods once before moving to peek out of the top of the caravan.

There’s a huge _something_ in the distance, swirling and billowing and moving straight for them. Hinata squints, wishing that it was at least daytime so he could see more clearly. Getting an idea, Hinata takes his staff and sends out a flare of light to reveal whatever it was coming their way.

His stomach turns into a pit.

A sandstorm.

With something _even bigger_ moving within it.

“Uh, guys!” Bobata shouts, panicked. “I _really_ think we should go!”

“I second that!” Hinata cries, swinging to stand on the outside. “Go, go, go!”

In seconds, the Johzenji group has piled in, Terushima, for once, fine with stowing himself away in the caravan. They pull down the canopy as they begin to race off in the opposite direction, Hinata’s flare still burning bright in the air as if a small sun. The sand grows closer and closer to the light, as if gaining speed, before engulfing it completely, leaving the sand to _glow_ orange-red. Hinata lights another, climbing up onto the roof, using his staff as a brace as the caravan blows through the sand. Hinata thanks the gods for the speed of the lizards before his heart sinks in the stomach—

The sand storm hits them, and the ground has started to shake.

Hinata slams his staff on the roof of the caravan to double the protection on it and watches in horror as the sand begins to shift half a mile out, an enormous mass tunneling underneath. He shoots up another flare just in time to watch as a giant, black, worm breaks out of the sand, an ear-splitting roar ringing through the bitter desert night as its mouth opens to showcase _thousands_ of jagged teeth, stained reddish-brown as if carved from the rock itself. It surges through the air just left of their caravan, and in unison, every single one of them watches it barrel by, curling in the sand before turning to face them dead on.

“No fuckin’ way!” Terushima shouts from his spot against the wall. “Is that— is that the fuckin’—”

“The Leviathan,” Iwaizumi whispers in disbelief, his heart dropping. His eyes immediately shoot up to the roof, where Hinata still hangs on.

The Death Worm Leviathan _charges,_ picking up speed at an alarming rate. Hinata looks down at the lizards, and towards Bobata, the driver, and swivels around to face the monster dead on.

“Drive!” he shouts, holding out his staff with both hands, reaching around for all of the energy he can find.

“That’s what I’m doing!” Bobata shouts back. “Or trying to!”

The Fog around them is dark, tainted and stifling in the same way it had been with the Sea Serpent in the East River. Hinata grits his teeth and fires nonetheless, shooting off a crackling beam of electricity, white hot and bright enough to illuminate the dust, right at the Death Worm’s mouth. When he hears a roar, he knows it lands, and relaxes, just long enough to be distracted by the shift of sand underneath them as the creature’s tail surfaces and attempts to smash into the cart. Panicked, Hinata extends one hand, palm splayed, creating a shield that holds the hit at bay until they’ve _barely_ slipped past. A strong gust shudders the caravan, almost tipping it. Hinata grits his teeth and pushes back, making sure it stays upright.

“Can’t you go any faster?!” Hana yells, clinging onto the wall.

“This sandstorm is makin’ it real hard to _go_ at all!” Bobata shouts back. He yanks on the reigns to veer them in a different direction, the sky illuminated by another of Hinata’s flares, only to realize they’ve come head to head with the Death Worm’s mouth once more. “Shit!”

Hinata raises his staff and creates a flash of blinding light. It has little affect, the Death Worm continuing to barrel alongside them.

“I don’t think that worked!” Futamata shouts.

“I know that!” Hinata yells back. Instead, he raises a wall of ice between them and the monster, sparing them just enough time to turn around and head deeper into the sandstorm. Only seconds later does he hear a deafening _crash_ , the Leviathan having already smashed through the ice to head right towards them.

“It’s all around us,” Tsuchiyu cries, his voice carrying despite the wind that whips around Hinata’s ears. “It’s constantly on our tail!”

 _Our tail,_ Hinata thinks, eyes widening. “Bobata!” he yells down, sending up another three flares into the air, aiming them away from them. It illuminates a near perfect circle of the sandstorm, and with one giant gust of wind from his staff, the air is momentarily cleared, just long enough for them to spot the Death Worm— right behind them.

“What?” Bobata shouts back, fear rising in his tone.

“On my mark, pull a hard right, and trust me on this!” Hinata shouts, extending his sphere of consciousness from his head to his toes, down through the soles of his feet, through the caravan and everyone in it. Bobata nods as twenty or so identical copies of their caravan come into view, side by side by side, identical to Hinata raising his staff and counting down as he faces the monster.

“Ready,” he shouts, feeling his entire body buzzing from the magic flowing through it. “Now!”

Every caravan begins to move in synchronous movement, splitting off into different directions with _their_ caravan, the real one, veering hard to the right as Bobata jerks the reigns. Hinata holds his breath as the Death Worm rears up and screeches, barreling off leftwards and into the distance. Its fleeing body rumbles behind them, shaking the entire cart and causing Hinata to stumble as he smiles, looking down at the driver’s perch to see Iwaizumi, looking up at him, eyes wide with pride, a piece of thin fabric billowing loosely around his mouth to save him from the still raging storm. Hinata relaxes his shoulders and steps forwards to climb down just as the caravan catches a rock in the sand, jostling the cart enough that Hinata loses his footing and is thrown overboard.

In the few moments it takes for him to realize he’s falling, the world slows. He reaches his hand— the one not gripped like a vice around his staff— out in desperate attempt to grab anything, catches sight of Iwaizumi’s face falling as he shoots out his hand— his warm, calloused, roughly scaled hand. And for a moment, Hinata thinks they’ve connected, that he’s alright, that he’s safe, only to watch as his fingertips barely graze Iwaizumi’s, only to feel his back hit the sand and roll as the caravan speeds away.

He thinks he hears his name, but in the surrounding wind, it’s lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed the chapter! so sorry for the cliffhanger after such a long wait, but like the saying goes, you know we had to do it to 'em. next chapter should be going up whenever it comes out! hope to see you then! - mooks 
> 
> —
> 
> theres a few inspos i wanna cite for this chapter, one of them being the adventure zone  
> because holy shit that purple worm the clock strikes noon soundtrack was playing in my head the entire time we wrote this. also!! idk if we said it in the last arc but matsukawas magic (copies) is inspired by killua in hxh ljhaljksfsdkf BUT YEAH! hope you enjoyed this chapter hope you love the new cast hope youre excited for whats to come :3c i sure am >:3c — kj


	12. requiem of fire and flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING. WHEEZES. THIS IS FINALLY DONE G O D IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG life got in the way a lot and there was just. A Lot All Of The Time BUT ANYWAY hope u enjoy this 20k chapter!!  
> SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO VELVET FOR THIS [ABSOLUTELY ASTOUNDING FANART](https://velvloid.tumblr.com/post/178381551384/) the colors... iwas scales... its so fuckgin good thank you so much again velvet  
> \- mooks
> 
> —
> 
> hey guys its kj and JEEZ this chapter was a bit of a struggle but it happened! special thanks to everyone whos been livereading and telling us their thoughts its SO KIND of you!! the support really keeps us going!! assuming mooks has said everything else, i hope you enjoy this chapter! i really am proud of it..

When the dust settles, Hinata is nowhere to be seen.

His flares have gone out, and the night sky blankets the desert in darkness. In their escape, they could’ve traveled minutes or miles, but none of it would have made any difference. Their shouts can only travel so far, and Iwaizumi can’t distinguish footsteps from blowing dunes in the distance. Still, he tries, hand clutching the gem hanging from his neck, keen eyes piercing through the dark with ease. There are no tracks in the sand, no smells in the air, nothing for him to latch onto besides the knot in his throat and the growing pit in his stomach.

He could’ve saved him. The thought is as true as any other, weighs on his shoulders heavier than any armor worn or monster fought. He could’ve been faster, _should’ve_ moved faster, could have avoided the ooze from the monsters and never become useless in the first place. The matter is not that he is incompetent, but rather that when it counted, he made a mistake, a mistake that kept him from reaching out and grabbing Hinata’s arm, from pulling him back, from _saving him._

Every part of Iwaizumi knows that Hinata is strong, that Hinata will persevere. _He won’t die of thirst,_ Iwaizumi tells himself. _He is strong. He can survive on his own._

They are facts, facts he doesn’t doubt and never will, but a fact as true as any is that Hinata is alone, in a desert unforgiving and barren, with no compass to bring them back together and no way to trace his steps back. And as Iwaizumi looks back at the brightening horizon, he wonders if Hinata is looking, too, if he thinks himself to be abandoned, if he doubts he’ll ever find his way back.

 _He’s alive,_ Iwaizumi tells himself, chest in stitches and stomach tight. An ache settles deep in his chest, one that sinks deep into his bones and pulls him apart from the inside. _He has to be._

—

Hinata wakes with a gasp of air and sand on his tongue, gritting against his teeth. He curls over to cough, spitting out what he can as his head pounds, body aching. The sun has risen to shine high in the sky, illuminating a wasteland of dunes unrecognizable to Hinata. He jolts up and wipes his mouth, feeling around to grab his staff beside him as his eyes scan his barren surroundings. There are no tracks in the sand, seemingly wiped away from the storm, no beacons in the distance, no structures, no trees— nothing to identify where he’s landed.

He’s alone, without direction, in the middle of the desert.

Groaning, Hinata swallows the creeping fears— _did they escape the Leviathan? Are they safe? Are they going on ahead?—_ and takes note of himself. His legs and clothes have a thin layer of sand covering them that he quickly shakes off. Besides the _thump_ of his heart in his ears and and the creeping anxiety pooling in his gut, he sports a few bruises on his arms that look fresh and a stomach not yet starved for food. Reasoning blearily in the face of the sun, he guesses he couldn’t have been out much longer than the night. Gingerly, he cups his hands into a bowl and summons water to fill them, drinking quickly least the water fall uselessly into the sand. Some dribbles down his chin, cooling skin burning hot as Hinata sighs, wiping his wet hands onto his neck.

“Plan,” he mumbles, squinting out at the horizon. “Need a plan.”

A flare would never be seen in the bright sunlight, and there’s no reason to believe that the caravan would be close enough for anyone to spot it either way. A nagging part of Hinata reminds him they may not even be _alive_ to see it, but is quickly shot down as Hinata moves on.

 _They escaped,_ he tells himself, _and there’s no telling how far they’ve gone. Finding me is finding a needle in a haystack, and I have no idea where they are now._

Hinata looks up at the sky. The sun has risen a little higher, now beating down directly on him.

 _I’ve got no direction,_ he thinks, pulling himself up out of the sand, _except west._

It’s a common goal: get to the West Forest. Hinata has no idea how far he is, but knows that in searching, he should eventually come across it. It’s not much, a plan as bleak as his surroundings, but gives him the drive to step forwards and traverse on foot once more, staff doubling as a cane as the uneven footing of the sand.

Days pass slowly, and Hinata tests his own limits in simply keeping himself alive. He can summon water to drink and ice to cool his neck, can start fires to warm himself at night and set traps to catch things to eat come morning. Every evening, he lights a flare that hangs in the sky, glowing bright, white, and luminous. Every morning, he wakes to no visitors, no other bodies but his own, and is left to dispel the magic and carry on in the opposite direction of the rising sun.

His skin grows hot, clothes damp with sweat, chilling him come nightfall and chaffing when he travels each day. His legs burn and his mind fogs but he continues with his simple goal— forwards, day by day. There is no banter, no chatter, no one to talk to or lean on as he walks, no rock or tether to hold him down, just the silent whisper of hot wind on his back and sand in his teeth, sweat on his brow, and sun on his neck as he steps forwards, and forwards.

And forwards. And forwards.

His steps grow heavy as the sun vanishes behind the horizon, leaving the last few smears of colour flickering across the sky. Orange and blue intertwine with purple around the edges as light dwindles, the soft embers of sunset finally having faded. Hinata falls to his knees. The landing is softened by the sand but is not soft, the grit biting into his hands as he falls back, panting heavily. His stomach lurches, but nothing comes up, vision blurring slightly at the sudden movement. He blinks harshly and attempts to steady himself and stand, only to sink further into the sand as his body grows weak to his own command. His staff slips from his hand and rests beside them as his head brushes the sand.

 _Water,_ he thinks, knowing that it’d only do him good to drink. He should move, but doesn’t. A moment passes, and he raising a hand that fills with water to his chapped lips, drinking and letting the excess dribble down his face.

He’s alone, and weak— not helpless, but nearing it. It's hard not to recall the wet floor and blue glow of Moonstone Cave, of death close enough to kiss. Though Hinata is not as cynical to call it written in his stars, death is too close a friend for him, too real of an entity to want to meet, too real a consequence of his actions, too often the meet of his demise.

 _His_ demise— the White Mage’s demise.

A moment passes. One, two.

 _Gods,_ Hinata thinks to himself, heart beating weak and rapid. _I don’t want to die._

A part of him, bright and flickering even in the low light, tells him he won’t, that he _can’t,_ in the same way he wouldn’t die in Moonstone Cave, he won’t now, but the fact is far from comforting. No fact could be comforting when his own death was written as a children’s fable that he’s known since his memory began to stretch, when his fate has been written and written and written and written and tied to a noose.

Hinata will die. Not yet, not here. Here, he’ll suffer in solitude. Here, he will lie alone, to live long enough to tear himself apart.

Another moment passes, three, four. The oranges fade and leave only purple and blue as the remnants of sunlight succumb to a crescent moon above. Hinata continues to lie still, the air cooling around him. He can taste the dry texture of his own mouth, unpleasant and foul, can smell ozone and see stars that begin to flicker into view. He would smile at the sight, but exhaustion wins out. The smell of ozone is odd and off putting, but he’s much too tired to do anything more than rest, eyes drooping.

When he opens them again, something glows, bright enough to burn his eyes as they adjust and strange enough that his mind aches trying to comprehend. Someone familiar kneels down in front of him— soft brown hair wind strewn, white blouse fraying but regal, and eyes dark and bitter, shadowed by the brim of the hat perched atop his head— and hesitates, for just a moment, before reaching a hand to cup his cheek and chin, lifting him up with another hand on his shoulder.

“How is it you’re always on death’s door when we meet?” he says, smile wry as his thumb brushes across Hinata's cheek; it's cool, clammy.

“Oi—Oikawa?” Hinata rasps, confusion muddling his view as he blinks, staring up at the face of the Dark Mage. If he were more coherent, maybe he’d be able to sense the relief that radiates from Oikawa’s frame. That, or he’d realize how the aura behind him burns a soft purple, giving the illusion that Oikawa glows in the light of the moon.

“Shh,” Oikawa says, eyes flickering from his gaze. Hinata feels something cool wrap around him as he fights the instinct to sleep, eyes growing heavy. “Rest.”

“B-but you—you’re…” Hinata starts, but is stopped as— relief? Another wave of exhaustion? He isn’t sure— washes over him, leaving his head heavy. It leans back but never touches the sand, resting on something softer that he can’t identify in the purple glow before his eyes fall shut. The last thing he sees is Oikawa, the Dark Mage, lips pursed and eyes tired, leaning away to stare out at the stars hung above them.

—

When Hinata comes to, the first thing that hits him— before the heat, before the pounding in his head, before the dryness of his throat— is the ache. It rips through his chest and knocks the air from his lungs as it does after any dream of Oikawa, leaving his heart to pound against his ribs and swell. His throat knots as he rubs his eyes, body sore with exertion but rejuvenated with the thralls of a good night’s rest, and adjusts to the sunlight. There’s a shadow over his face and something soft under his head, the two facts combining to create just enough suspicion to rouse him to wakefulness. His hands fall away from his eyes and he sits up to face a familiar figure, sitting between him and the sun, eyes watchful as he sits up and realizes the situation at hand.

“You— you didn’t leave,” Hinata says, only the words come out as more of a question than anything.

Oikawa tilts his head to the side, somewhat bemused as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Do you want me to?”

“No! No, I— I don’t, I—” Hinata stammers, clutching onto a cloak lying beside him. It’s cool, fashioned from a sleek black silk, and most definitely not his own. Oikawa stares as he stutters out excuses, and just as the thought occurs that he seems hardly offended, Oikawa stands.

“Come on,” he says, calling over his shoulder, staff held loosely in one hand. His voice carries through the heavy desert air as he begins to walk forwards.

Hinata scrambles to his feet, cloak in hand. His head still pounds, and he’s still parched enough to drink an entire fountain. “Wait! Your cloak and— wait, where are we going?”

“West.” Oikawa doesn’t look back as he answers, and doesn’t slow as Hinata approaches to catch up. “That was your destination, wasn’t it?”

Hinata furrows his brow. “It was, but—”

“Then west it is.”

“Your cloak—” Hinata starts, holding up the black cape, only for Oikawa to interrupt.

“Keep it. It’ll keep you cool,” he says.

Hinata looks down at the cape. “It’s black.”

Oikawa stops at that, turning to face him. “It’s enchanted, White Mage. You won’t overheat this way.”

“Oh,” Hinata says. The fabric does cool his hands, enough that he wraps it around his shoulders despite how it drags in the sand, too long for his short stature. “Thank you.” There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. “You know, you don’t have to call me that. I— I have a name.”

“I assumed,” Oikawa says dryly. “But no one was kind enough to share it.”

“Geh?” Hinata says, surprised. “Well, it’s Hinata Shouyou. You don’t need to call me _White Mage_ now.”

“Okay,” Oikawa replies, eyes shining as he continues to walk. _“White Mage.”_

Hinata huffs, following behind. It’s striking, that despite his seeming omnipresence, Oikawa lacks the knowledge of something as simple as his name. Hinata doesn’t doubt Oikawa’s scope of power in comparison to his own, not when he can teleport to his exact location and watch him from his own crystal ball. Even without the tales of slaughter and childhood destruction, Oikawa’s abilities are well known. The purple flickering around his frame has a habit of making sure it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Oikawa’s cape keeps the sun off his back in spite of its colour, the enchantment keeping him chilled as they continue to follow the sun’s path through the sky. Hinata remembers to drink more often now, the night before enough of a warning to keep hydrated than anything. He offers Oikawa once, only to be turned down with a shake of the head, his eyes not even meeting his own.

There’s a part of Hinata that struggles to believe this sight is real. Oikawa fits the desert scenery about as well as a lake would— horribly— the scalding sun clashing against the purple flickering around his shoulders. In this light, it could almost pass as a mirage, a halo of glittering wonder and not the darkness of a man wreathed in flames. He leads Hinata through the desert, a guide for an old man’s blindness, a silent sheppard to a sheep. There is confusion below Hinata’s curiosity, and fear below that still— fear of something unknown and intangible that weighs down his chest, hooks around his sternum and _pulls_ him forwards. Above it all, though, is trust many would call unwarranted, and many more would call suicide. He follows Oikawa’s footsteps and wears his cloak and hangs off of every word and every silence, and not a single part of him dares to fight the urge to step closer.

But that isn’t his goal right now. His goal is to traverse a barren wasteland and to reach the West Forest, to reunite with Iwaizumi and the others. And then—

And then what? Save who needs saving? Slay a monster wreaking havoc on another town? Find the Dark Mage in his tower and plead him to stop, only for them both to be consumed by destiny and swallowed by flames? He looks up at Oikawa and wonders— why he hasn’t killed him yet, why he hasn’t seen the same malice he’s seen in phantom eyes in Oikawa’s own, why the strings tied to his fingertips and the thousand monsters consuming life are hidden in the broad light of the desert day. Oikawa is the Dark Mage, and that much is fact, but Hinata can’t help but imagine that he is someone else, someone untouched by destiny’s thread.

Despite the lack of anything happening, dusk comes quicker than Hinata thought, painting the sky in blacks and blues, so alike the bruising feeling in Hinata’s chest.

“We should set up for the night,” Hinata says, looking up at the ever brightening moon. Oikawa’s cloak has stopped chilling him and started to radiate heat, in a way that makes him think it’s enchanted for more than just a barrier from the desert sun.

Oikawa looks at Hinata with a wave of confusion flickering across his face. “Are you tired?”

“I— I mean— we’ve been walking all day,” Hinata stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aren’t you tired? You haven’t eaten or had any water.”

Oikawa stares at him for a moment, deep brown eyes boring into his own in an unspoken staring contest. Neither blink, and Oikawa breaks away first, turning around and digging his staff into the sand. Slowly, a shimmering field of purple descends around them, floating in the air like a blanket of stars before fading into invisibility.

“We can rest here, then,” he says as Hinata begins to curiously inspect the barrier Oikawa had made. He can swipe his fingers through easily enough, but the second they touch the magic, a mind numbing chill surges through him. He jerks back as if burned, rubbing his hand idly with a slight hiss.

“I wouldn’t touch that,” Oikawa says, taking a step closer to Hinata only to stop in his tracks. His eyes flicker from Hinata’s face to his hand, eyes creasing as he swallows thickly. “Are you… okay?”

The question takes Hinata by surprise. “Y-yeah! I’m— I’m okay,” he responds. “It didn’t hurt, really.”

Oikawa stays silent, eyes narrowing as if to seek out any semblance of untruth in Hinata’s words. A moment later, he nods, turning back to kneel down in the centre of the bubble and spark a flame. It’s black at the centre and purple towards the licking ends, burning quietly in the dark desert night. It captivates Hinata in a way that has him wandering forwards, kneeling down next to the fire in order to watch the darkness emit its soft purple light, bringing warmth to his skin as the air rapidly cools. A soft yawn escapes him as he pulls the cloak tighter around him, looking up across the fire to meet Oikawa’s eyes once more.

“Do you mind taking first watch while I sleep?” he asks, watching as the light illuminates the hollows of Oikawa’s collarbones.

“Nothing will break the barrier,” Oikawa tells him, voice sure as he leans back onto his hands. “If you need me to, I’ll stay up.”

A soft _thank you_ slips from Hinata’s lips as he offers Oikawa a gentle smile, tucking his feet under the cloak and adjusting it so that his head can rest on it as well. He blinks slowly, watching Oikawa’s eyes drift between him and the stars as the fire cracks between them. Oikawa seems, if not content with the silence, unwilling to break it, shoulders tight as he looks up at the heavens and away from Hinata sitting at arms length from him. Brown eyes catch the glow of the fire, deepening as they shine and flicker against the purple hues of the flame. All of Oikawa’s pale skin seems to shimmer next to the fire, as if the small bout of black magic brings life to a body teetering on the edge of something more. He seems younger here, when not hooded by anger or stricken by an inconsolable grief, more boyish. Hinata notes how the sleeves of his blouse hang off of his frame, and though Oikawa is not weak or short by any means, it does much to make him seem smaller than he is, like a child playing dress up in a role he does not belong to.

“Oikawa,” Hinata says, voice soft and lilted with sleep. “Can… can I ask you something?”

Oikawa shifts his gaze down towards Hinata, eyes reflecting the purple flame in its entirety. “You can ask,” he tells him. “I won’t— I can’t say I’ll answer.”

Hinata frowns for a moment before gathering up the remnants of courage within him. “How old are you?”

The question takes Oikawa by surprise. He leans back and licks his lips, eyes darting away from Hinata’s to stare deep into the flame. “I’m not sure, if I’m being honest. I stopped counting.”

“You— you stopped counting?” Hinata asks, careful to hide his disbelief.

“There’s no use in it, in that knowledge, if I’m destined to die anyway.”

Hinata watches the beginnings of bitterness coil around the corners of his mouth and nose, watches the aura, a purple haze, flicker darker for a moment before becoming still. “Well,” Hinata says tentatively, “I—I mean… at least you won’t alone, right?”

Oikawa freezes at that, the loose edges of his shoulders tightening, his chest going still. There’s a moment of nothingness where Hinata regrets his words, where he wonders if he should reach for his staff, before Oikawa hums and moves again, clicking his tongue.

“I suppose…” he says softly, with too much feeling for someone Hinata last saw burning with rage. Those bottomless brown eyes look back over to him, gazing over his vulnerable form with no hint of ill intent or malice, no hurt beyond the dash of distrust pressed into his eyes. “I suppose so.”

Hinata’s heart clenches, and he can almost feel tears welling up in his eyes. He turns momentarily, letting his face press into the forgiving cloth of Oikawa’s cape, breathing in the scent of age old parchment and ozone. A thought creeps into his mind, not unwelcome, but alien— would the crook of Oikawa’s neck smell the same? Would his hair be as soft as the touch of the silk under his skin? Would Oikawa’s chest radiate heat, would it shake with stolen breaths, would the ache, ever pounding, cease to entwine in his rib bones when his hands, wracked with tremors, ghost up to his neck? The fantastical curiosity of it all curls dreamlike around the lights flashing behind his eyes. It’s almost too much— the bittersweet _longing_ that has overtaken him choking out sense and leaving his throat and chest tight with words and feelings he can barely spew out.

“Why haven’t you attacked me yet?” Hinata asks, voice muffled by the cape. It’s barely a whisper, so quiet he couldn’t blame Oikawa if he didn’t hear.

It’s the only question safe to ask when he doesn't understand why his heart is beating so loud and why his eyes are peeking out from the cape just to watch Oikawa breathe. Oikawa grips his hand around his staff beside him until he sports white knuckles and long eyes, drifting away from Hinata and up towards the constellations sewn by deep navy thread. Once again, the fear of speaking out of turn rushes to his gut the moment Oikawa speaks, voice distant despite the closeness the two share.

“I could ask you the same,” Oikawa says. “You’ve seen what I’ve done… the monsters— the monsters _I_ created… the people I’ve killed. So, why haven’t _you?”_

Hinata pushes himself up onto his elbows, enough so that his head rises above the dancing black flame. In the darkness around them, it is the only source of light, be it purple and tainted with something that makes Hinata numb when he approaches. “Because,” he says, finding the words slipping from his mouth before he can ponder them. “I— I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to kill you.”

Oikawa meets his eyes once more, mouth curved into a smile that doesn’t extend to eyes sunken with grief. “You should, White Mage,” he tells him. “And you should sleep.”

Hinata frowns before he nods, slowly, ignoring how his limbs weigh with the weight of a world he was never meant to carry. His heart has long since lodged itself into his throat, drumming loud in his ears as he settles back down into the soft embrace of the cape, wrapping it around his shoulders. Slowly, he settles to face the fire, watching the black flames curl around sand turned glass at its base, watching Oikawa stare up at the heavens through it all. And as his eyes slip closed, Hinata falls into rest with the image of Oikawa bracing the desert night, chin tilted to the sky as if he could see what lies beyond the reach of the horizon.

—

Hinata wakes to the scent of food and the rising desert sun on his face, pulling the last embers of sleep from his mind as he blinks his eyes open. In front of him lies a cooked piece of indiscernible meat, lying on a small torn piece of cloth that keeps it from becoming embedded into the sand. Roused by both hunger and delight, Hinata takes haste in consuming the entire meal, throwing the bones out into the sand as he licks the last of the oil from his fingers. It’s been a day or so since he had something to eat, leaving his stomach full from just that as he tugs the cape back around his shoulders, enjoying its cool touch to his skin.

“You’re awake.”

Hinata jumps, whipping around to see Oikawa sitting behind him, smirking slightly at Hinata’s surprise. “Oh— it’s— it’s just you,” Hinata says, breathing deeply to stop his heart from racing. The faintest beginnings of amusement flash across Oikawa’s face as he uses his staff to stand, dusting sand from his knees as Hinata stretches out his arms.

“Did you catch that?” Hinata asks, humming as his back cracks pleasantly. “And cook it?”

Oikawa nods, otherwise indifferent as he stares westward. “You were complaining about hunger earlier,” he tells him.

“Did you eat anything?” Hinata fills his hands with water, drinking until his thirst is quenched before splashing the rest over his face.

“You have other things to be preoccupied with,” Oikawa sighs.

At that, Hinata stands, fixing the cloak around his shoulders once more. “Yeah, but you can’t just _not eat—”_

“I don’t need to much,” Oikawa cuts him off. “My body has a funny way of keeping me from dying.”

“Keep— what?” Hinata stops, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he stares at Oikawa’s back. “What do you mean?”

Oikawa doesn’t reply. Instead, Hinata feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest, the dull ache pounding as he stumbles. He swallows thickly before straightening himself up, watching Oikawa do the same. Oikawa turns to him, eyes wide with something Hinata has yet to name, uncertain and youthful and scared and _wanting._ It’s reflected in the part of chapped lips and the tongue that moistens them as Oikawa’s expression falls.

“Come on,” Oikawa says, voice clipped, detached. “We should leave.”

Hinata nods, and releases the breath he unknowingly held, the tug in his chest a reminder of what lies unanswered in the air between them.

—

The sun has long since set, but for Hinata, sleep has just overtaken him. The crickets chirp a song no brighter than the sheen of starlight against the silky black coat wrapped around his shoulders and tucked under his head, the wind no louder than the soft breaths slipping from half parted lips. He had lit the fire that night, leaving white flame to cascade over the sun-kissed apples of his cheeks. To a watchful Oikawa, the light is nearly burning. It sears his fingertips as he touches the licking flame, turning black at the moment of touch, forcing him to sit adjacent to Hinata as not to feel the fire’s gentle destruction.

There is a peculiar kind of innocence in the way Hinata sleeps, hand tucked under chin, cheek squished against the arm he uses as a pillow. It’s a kind of foreign vulnerability Oikawa fails to retain, one that left him in the years that have passed. There is no need for it, not when darkness lives deep in his marrow, not when magic settles beneath his tongue. Dull shears do no good when cutting down the strings of fate, and dull swords have killed no man. Oikawa’s edges are as sharp as the pain that drives through his chest as he watches Hinata, chest rising like the tide that pushes from his lungs out through a sigh.

In the stillness of the peaceful night, each shift in Hinata’s face is jarring, each lick of the flame a jolt of lightning, a dangerous game. Oikawa is no stranger to danger, and in kind, no stranger to games. He watches Hinata and peels back the layers that exist between them in the light of day, each shield and screen constructed to keep distance from flint and steel. Oikawa is nothing if not a master in barriers, and yet, in the familiar wreath of darkness and the strange glow of light, he lets them fall to the floor, lets his eyes wander unabashedly over the sleeping form of the White Mage— over Hinata Shouyou. The name is one that rests in his throat unused, but biting, teasing his tongue with the phantom idea of speaking it into existence. There is no malice in his stare, no wish for death despite the urge for strife that curls at the edges of his consciousness, only wonder at how someone like him can be graced with the sight of heaven in a form not of the gods. Hinata is as human as Oikawa is monster, is as earthly as the sand beneath their feet. In his delicate slumber, Oikawa is free to admire. For as strong as the unrelenting desire is for destruction, so is the desire to brush his thumb against his cheek, comb his fingers through his hair. He knows the words for this dangerous feeling, knows what to call the urge to count every freckle that graces Hinata’s cheeks. It is no feeling he deserves and no feeling a decrepit soul such as his is capable of, a sensation, an action, an ability that died in the flames that consumed Oikawa long ago.

Yet as strong as they are, Oikawa doubts. Just like how the everlasting ache he carries is an ailment alien to him, so too could be the feelings he fosters for Hinata. And such as the fire can tainted with the darkness inside, so can the trusting face of Hinata. There is venom on Oikawa’s skin and poison in his heart, lips wet with the cruelty of the unfathomable and the aftertaste of death burnt onto his tongue.

The world is unworthy of what beauty it still holds, and Oikawa is unworthy of the sight of the stars finding homes in the radiance of Hinata’s skin. In the dead of night, the wind shifts, and Oikawa catches it in his mouth and swallows whole the time stolen he’ll never earn.

—

The air stills around Hinata’s shoulders as the sun sinks heavy in the sky, twilight beginning to fizzle around them. A day has come and gone, and another, and another, and another, leaving the the process of creating camp one that feels almost routine. Oikawa creates a barrier that shimmers in a ten foot radius around them, and either light a fire to illuminate the space they’ve created as the sun goes down. Neither rush quite yet, content to let their eyes wander to the fading colours of the sky before it darkens. The moon hangs in full above their heads, beginning to show against the deepening blues and purples, a stamp in the sky that is nearly as bright as the sun. Hinata is almost naïve enough to call the moment peaceful, and true enough to himself to know that the way it stills his aching bones must mean more than any unwelcome pessimism in the face of adversity. He closes his eyes for just a moment and smiles, sighing gently before opening his eyes and turning to Oikawa, only to find the boy staring right back at him. There's a moment where neither speak, a shared acknowledgement of careful glances and fond eyes exchanged without the understanding of the weight behind them as Oikawa waves his hand to light a flame at his feet.

Hinata fixes the cloak around his shoulders and tucks it under himself, acting more as a blanket than a cape as he sits down in front of the fire and begins to free his shoulders of the tensions of the day. The scent of parchment and smoke leaves him stretching out his legs, hands curling in the fabric as his eyes meet Oikawa’s from across the fire. It’s in these moments, over the days they’ve spent travelling together, that emotions rise uninhibited by task or distraction. It’s never fear, nor a stunning realization of anger and hatred Oikawa seems to expect to wash over him at a moment’s notice. No, more often than not, the only feeling that simmers within Hinata’s chest is the one he’s not yet named, the pull that makes every glance Oikawa spares him feel like the flame that crackles between them. Hinata bites his lip and wonders if Oikawa’s tired eyes ever rest long enough to escape reality, and if touching along the soft curve of his cheekbones and sharp line of his jaw would make them flutter open, would cause calmness or calamity.

Hinata can almost hear his voice now, haughty but lilted with amusement at his curiosity. _There is nothing soft about me,_ his imaginary Oikawa says, and Hinata nearly scoffs. He wants, more than anything, to explore, to find those truths for himself buried in the locks of Oikawa’s hair and the tips of his fingers. He yearns to steady the nervous heartbeat in his chest, to witness the vulnerability of closed eyes and a head resting on his lap, to touch his heart and smear the darkness across his hands. He _wants_ Oikawa, and that fact is more terrifying than any threat he has made as the Dark Mage, yet Hinata doesn’t understand why. Oikawa remains an enigma unsolvable by its nature, remains a tree growing out of mountain rock, remains a single flower in the desert, life in darkness. It’s paradoxical how he is alive and how he continues to pull Hinata closer and closer and force him to worry over the deep spots of purple discolouration on his skin, not unlike the aura that radiates from his body.

Oikawa most certainly notices his staring, appraising it with a curious flick of eyes across Hinata’s face. He makes no move to show discomfort nor turns away, simply allowing Hinata to appraise him, unknowing that his mind wanders down the deepest rabbit holes to where he can fantasize being held in Oikawa’s arms. It would never feel like betrayal, only comfort, and cool, but secure, like a cradle built out of the finest china or a hammock of delicate lace. The regality Oikawa carries, the old money air around him exuded by his dress, is nothing but a facade. Hinata watches the chiffon sleeves fray and makes note of the yellowing ivory tones. Oikawa is not royal, is nothing more than a sheep in wolf’s clothing, and Hinata finds himself reaching to stroke him before he can even stop.

“Can… can I come closer?” he asks, and the words are spoken through a mouth suddenly so parched that not a river’s worth of would could sate him. Oikawa’s eyes widen, and where Hinata expects to find rejection, he only finds surprise, Oikawa’s lips parted in a distinctive _oh_ as if truly caught off guard by his request.

The response isn’t immediate, isn’t _no_ hissed through a roaring flames or a scoff. Oikawa debates through the shadows in his eyes, playing off of the light of the fire as he begins to stammer, uncertainty a look on him Hinata had not yet seen.

“I— you… If— if you want,” he finally says, words leaving his mouth while his nose twitches. Oikawa swallows thickly. “I— I am not opposed.”

At that, Hinata exhales, breath shaking, and scooches forwards, skirting around the edge of the fire as the cape falls heavy around his shoulders. Oikawa tenses as he settles down beside him, their shoulders hardly brushing as they sit side by side. It’s a kind of closeness that feels intimate inherently due to consent rather than necessity of any kind. They two stare at the fire and become aware of how the other moves, the soft breaths that leave Oikawa’s lips and lead the rise and fall of his shoulders, the way Hinata's fingers dig into the sand.

“You’re too trusting,” Oikawa murmurs, looking through the corners of his eyes at Hinata before his gaze wanders back to the crackling fire.

“Maybe,” Hinata responds, voice slow. “Or maybe you haven’t realized you’ve earned it.”

At that, Oikawa turns fully towards him, brows pulling in for half a second before he sighs. His eyes dance over Hinata’s face, purple lights casting an ethereal glow across his cheeks, light from a dark flame reflected in his eyes. “Strange,” he says, eyes darting across Hinata’s face.

“What?” Hinata asks, tilting his head.

“Nothing,” Oikawa responds, their eyes still held together. “Just you… Hinata. Just you. ”

Hinata’s cheeks flush red before he can even comprehend what Oikawa has said, a deep blush travelling through his body as his mouth opens and closes around words half formed. Oikawa chuckles, bitter as always, before closing his eyes and tilting his chin towards the stars, the desert night once again leaving the galaxy exposed over their heads. On a night this bright there is almost no darkness, the world around them illuminated by celestial bodies too far to ever comprehend and the fire that burns between the mages. Hinata watches the closest thing to peace he’s seen wash over Oikawa’s face that night, not letting his eyes leave up until his blinking grows so slow it stops entirely. The last glimpse of Oikawa is accompanied by a million stars and a realization from deep within, that the feeling that wracks through him has a name.

—

Hinata wakes with something soft against his cheek coupled with clamminess on his skin, a strange mirage of sensations that have his eyes flutter open to catch the rise of the desert sun. The sky, brilliant in its oranges and pinks, stretches across the wasteland as Hinata comes to consciousness. It’s a slow process, but once he moves to sit up, cape falling from his shoulders, he notices why he was kept so cool the night before.

Laying beside him, fast asleep and pressed close to his thigh is none other than Oikawa himself, caught in a precarious state of undeniable vulnerability. His skin, which Hinata has watched react to the sunlight through their time together, is flushed at the cheeks where new, faint freckles scatter. They’re minuscule in comparison to Hinata’s spots, but endearing all the same, making a mockery out of the common belief that Oikawa is more monster than man. In his sleep, his face is lax and void of any bitterness or tension, eyes soft and long, dark lashes ghosting his cheeks. His lips, parted and chapped due to the desert heat, are a pretty tone of pink, one that near matches the swirling colours painted across the sky. Here, with no one to watch him and no mind to care, Hinata can detail the image of a sleeping Oikawa to memory, can smile at the way his chest rises and falls and how his body is angled in a way that suggests they had slept face to face.

Questions rise to the surface of Hinata’s mind as he blushes, curious as to why Oikawa didn’t move away. Hinata can’t recall falling asleep, nor can he recall moving from Oikawa’s side that night. His blush spreads further down his neck but Hinata makes no move to look away from Oikawa’s form as his chest aches, a steady weight balanced on his sternum as he recalls the memories of the night before, of his name falling from Oikawa’s lips like sugar sap, and his body close and closer still.

Love— the concept is one Hinata knows. He loves the sunshine and the rain, the way the birds sing and cool breezes on warm days, first snowfall and sight of deer wandering into the village. He loves his mother and Natsu, loves Lady Kiyoko and Yachi, loves them like the family they are. He loves Iwaizumi as his rock and partner in these travels, loves Kenma and Kuroo and all of the people of the riverside town, spreads his love out amongst every person he’s ever met and finds it stronger because of it. And here he is, naming this weight, this pull, this _ache, love,_ for Oikawa Tooru, for the Dark Mage. Because it was only natural for Hinata to care, to open his heart, to accept this feeling as the most familiar kind of magic he could ever know. Love is a strong word, but it’s the only one that fits.

Oikawa’s hand lays palm up on Hinata’s thigh as he continues to sleep, undisturbed by the rising sun or Hinata alike. These hands, worn and scarred, with fingers long and slender, have held magic dark, have toyed with death, have striked down onto the necks of hundreds and the hearts of many. But now, despite all of the pain written into his palm’s fortune, Hinata reaches forwards and brushes his fingertips to Oikawa’s wrist to feel the pulse of blood in his veins. Slowly, gently, hesitant but sure, Hinata moves his hand to press against Oikawa’s, to interlock their fingers and hold him as close as he can. Hinata’s breath hitches and he prays to every god that Oikawa stays asleep long enough for him to treasure this kind of contact, to warm his cool skin, to ground a boy beyond his years to the world they live in today. He wishes to move closer, to press their foreheads and chests together and entangle their bodies to the point where ends and beginnings no longer matter, to the point where there is no White or Dark Mage and there is only Oikawa and Hinata, Hinata and Oikawa, resting their eyes under the sun’s rays without the world resting upon their backs.

Guilt trickles into the back of his mind at a thought so forbidden it hurts, but he pushes it down for the sake of this moment, when Oikawa is asleep and Hinata can pretend, if just for a minute, that everything about them is normal. He closes his eyes and imagines the light pressing against his eyes to be that from a fire, the sand and cape below him to be wood and a rug, for the setting not to be in a burning desert, but a warm cottage in a forest with just them. No curse, no looming fear of death, strife, or suffering.

When the daze of sleep begins to tug at his mind once more, he nearly forgets to disconnect their hands.

_(It hurts.)_

—

When it comes time to continue travelling, Oikawa is left with warmth in his palm that extends up his side. Hinata leads the way for once, kicking sand and chasing the clouds as he goes. There seems to be a kind of skip in his step today beyond the usual drudging through they’ve partaken in, where every so often he casts smiles over his shoulder before continuing towards the horizon. Oikawa’s cape wraps around his shoulders and blows gently behind him in the wind, so stark in comparison to the light brown fabric that consists of most of his travelling gear. A part of Oikawa wonders if Hinata knows how cold the west will be, if he’s prepared fur lined coats and boots for the snow that is soon to fall.

It soon rises to mind that Iwaizumi would never let them enter the West Forest unprepared. It’s true he knows it better than Oikawa, but the strange sense of worry in his gut doesn’t disappear despite knowing of Iwaizumi’s true strength. Oikawa hasn’t spoken to him since that day, has little idea or mind as to what Iwaizumi could think of Hinata’s situation right now. He was always wiser, big-hearted, but rational where Oikawa leaned towards risk. They balanced each other out as children, but time doesn’t heal wounds as much as it lets them fester. Oikawa is not the same boy he was and Iwaizumi has likely changed too, after gaining rank among the Royal Order and travelling the country beyond his own home. What friendship they share is now a burnt ember in the ground, ashes in the shape of Oikawa knowing Hinata is safe with him.

But if Oikawa was truly fearful for Hinata’s safety, if he truly wished not for their own destruction, he would leave Hinata where he stands, with a direction and renewed strength. He would become a phantom in the shadows once more, in the tower where he belongs, waiting the day his sanity leaves him, waiting for the day they meet each other and their doom once more.

“Oikawa?” Hinata asks, drawing him back from his thoughts. He’s stopped for now, posture tightening like a coil as his grip grows tighter around his staff. Oikawa blinks as worry paints itself across Hinata’s face.

“What?” he asks, but it comes out in a snap that is as biting as it is regretful, Oikawa recoiling before he even realizing what he’s done. His skin burns like midwinter frostbite as his hands slowly fade back from black, flinching at the sight of violet tinting his vision.

“You…” Hinata says, voice trailing off before he shakes his head, offering him a smile. “We— we can continue, if you want now.”

 _If you want now._ His words are gentle and carry a weight that leaves Oikawa loathing the idea that he deserves anything akin to it. Does Hinata know of his conflict? Can he read his face as clear as the desert day and see the emotions wash over him, the same as the shades of darkness that cloud his eyes?

And does Hinata feel that conflict within him too? Is it mirrored in his heartstrings, pulling him towards the truth and further away from the world they wander now? He waits for Oikawa to nod, ever distant as his eyes sweep over the vast horizon, before turning to continue walking.

Living darkness crawls in the back of Oikawa’s mind, and he reminds himself that this soon has to end.

—

The firelight between Hinata and Oikawa burns a soft white as Hinata peels the thick skin of a cactus pear, two skewers cooking over the fire as he works to get to the fruit inside. Hunger is a familiar beast travelling like this, becoming a pit in their stomach that they grow used to over the days.

Hinata glances over at Oikawa. Ever since the morning after he held his hand, the one that later licked with black flame, he’s been different. He keeps a larger distance between them as the aura surrounding him flickers. The distance between them, despite it being Oikawa’s usual, now feels _new._ It worries him, makes him wonder if he overstepped his boundaries somehow, if he knew he held his hand that morning. It twists in his gut like a snake squeezing the life out of its prey, his chest heavy with the weight of the realization that even throughout their travels, despite how he felt them getting closer, they haven’t at all. Hinata still knows little to nothing about _Oikawa,_  even with all of his understandings of the Dark Mage.

Hinata doesn’t like this distance, doesn’t like the silence and the way the nothingness reminds him of inability. It creeps through him while Oikawa stares up at the stars, arms wrapped around one knee while he bathes in the light from the faraway heavens. It’s somewhat a habit of his, a common sight to find Oikawa motionless beside him, head tipped upwards and eyes widening to take in all that the sky holds. The stars are the brightest here than anywhere else Hinata has been, but none burn as brightly as the reverence Oikawa holds for what lies above.

“Oikawa,” Hinata starts, curiosity taking him over. Oikawa’s eyes flit down to stare at him, chin still tipped high, sharp jaw carved by the shadows of a pure white flame. There is apprehension in how he holds his lips tight, eyes no longer wide as they begin to narrow in on Hinata.

“Yes?” he asks, not breaking their held gaze. It’s the most contact they’ve had in a few days, this staring contest divided by the fire Hinata built between them.

Hinata swallows, feeling a different kind of warm crawl from the base of his spine upwards to his neck. “Why are you always looking at the stars?”

Something akin to surprise washes over Oikawa in minuscule details— how he leans back, how his lips fall open, how his head leans. Hinata finds it hard not to feel small next to someone like him, someone who's bitter smile is enough to freeze the heat in Hinata’s bones until a chill runs through his body. That bitter smile persists as Oikawa breaks their gaze, eyes once more fixed on the stars as Hinata’s heart beats heavy in his ears.

“You… you and I are the closest things to gods on this earth,” Oikawa says. “I’ve killed thousands without batting an eye and you’ve kept men, women and children from dying with a simple breath of magic.”

Hinata furrows his brows. “Oi—Oikawa, I don’t—”

“But you do,” Oikawa snarls, voice harsh and abrasive, cutting him off as he spins around, hands slamming down into the dust. “We are not like the others. There is no one fate as corrupt as ours combined, nor is there one as amalgamated and strong. There are— there aren’t any mortals with our power for a reason. Mortals were never supposed to have it.”

Stirring inside of Hinata are the beginnings of fear as he watches Oikawa’s eyes darken, the aura around him ebbing steady as his voice grows rougher. “But you know, even with our power, the stars make a mockery of us. Our fate controls us in exchange for this power, and in a world where I— where I am— where I am the biggest known evil in existence, it’s selfishly nice to feel small in comparison to the heavens.”

Silence returns. The desert chooses to be silent in this moment, no breeze nor rustling interrupting the _pop_ of the fire between them. Hinata exhales shaky and weak, hands mirroring the near tremor in Oikawa’s shoulders as his hands drag slowly back to himself, falling limp at his sides. He watches as eyes dark and black begin to fade, white eyes with brown centres becoming visible once more. The aura is still black, still cloaking his shoulders much like the tattered cape Hinata wears around his shoulders, but his mind seems to calm enough that his shoulders drop.

Hinata knows fear of death, has been inches from meeting the mother in the earth on many occasions over the past few months, and yet that is not the fear he feels. The fear he feels now, with the Dark Mage simmering just an arm’s length away, is that of seeing Iwaizumi floating motionless in the water, is seeing a town on the brink of destruction, is seeing his sister cowering by the river’s edge.

So Hinata, in the face of a fear he knows all too well, does the only thing he knows how.

He reaches out.

And moments after his hand coasts over the fire and moments before his fingertips brush Oikawa’s arm, Oikawa flinches, arm jerking back as his eyes widen and stare down at Hinata’s hand. Hinata pulls back, feeling his own flame lick hot against his skin as Oikawa blinks rapidly, no longer a wolf, but a wounded animal cornered by fire. Hinata sits back onto his legs and feels his heart sink and ache until breathing becomes a task, because this should've been expected. Hinata yearning for closeness is one not reciprocated by a boy who lives by the way of a shadow. So with guilt and regret swirling deep in his stomach, Hinata turns away, pulls the cloak that smells like earth and aging parchment around his chin and wishes for sleep, wishes for a world where the fire does not separate them, where they are not opposites but equals with only smiles on their faces.

And if sleep comes, it is fitful, and if he dreams, there are none worth remembering.

—

It’s a windy evening atop of the caravan, with Iwaizumi bathed in scales, drowning in the sand that whips across his face as the cart pulls along. The dull glow of sunset makes its way through the clouds of dust only enough to make the world around him orange and opaque, keen eyes unable to search the horizon when it’s blocked from view. After a near two weeks since Hinata was lost during the Leviathan attack, there has been no sign of him among the dunes. So here he rests, with music being played ever so slightly out of tune around him, chatter drowned out by the rushing fear brought by near death experiences and a missing person.

Iwaizumi can’t see Hinata, can’t hear his laughter, can’t smell him or simply reach out and touch him. He has all but vanished into the sand, leaving Iwaizumi to cling onto the truth of destiny to remind him that Hinata is alive, somewhere. The desert is bare of any sign of life beyond the caravan. There hasn’t been a single sign of Hinata, not a flare or some kind of beam of light in order to show them his location in the time he’s been gone. And yet, if not in naivety, then in vain, Iwaizumi sits day and night waiting for that sign, watching as the curse fade from his scales as Hinata’s lingering magic works through his body. His mind teeters on exhaustion while restlessness courses through his veins in an aftershock of worrying, of self imposed guilt mixed deep in his gut with the unavoidable truth that his own injury may lie to blame. He heaves out a sigh, shaky as he runs a hand through his hair. Closing his eyes only makes his body turn heavy in sleep deprivation, so he tries to keep them open as long as possible out of fear of missing a single thing. It’s ironic, then, that he only notices Hana climbing up to the rooftop when she makes a huff of effort, managing the rare feat of catching Iwaizumi off guard.

“Hana?” Iwaizumi says, rubbing his eyes and turning towards her. Exhaustion makes transforming into human skin a useless task even if Hana wasn’t as visibly nonchalant as she appears. She dusts off her soft silken pants and crosses her legs, offering Iwaizumi an apologetic smile.

“I hope you don’t mind me being here,” she says, stretching out her shoulder as Iwaizumi shifts his gaze back out towards the obscured night.

“Not at all,” he mumbles, dropping his hands to his sides. “Was there something you needed?”

“Not really. Just wanted to check up on you,” Hana says.

“M’fine,” Iwaizumi says. “There’s nothing to worry about. I can go without sleep for a few days.”

Hana’s smile falters. “It’s been a week and a half. You can’t blame us for getting a little worried.” She tugs on a satchel resting on her hip and pulls out a handful of wrapped and dried meats. “I guess your… kind can go longer without much food, but… it feels wrong to let you be up here alone with barely anything to eat or drink.”

She pulls out a flask from her satchel and holds it out as well. Iwaizumi glances at the it before looking up at her.

“I thank you,” he tells her, accepting her offerings with a slight bow of his head. “But I— you don’t need to worry about me.” He begins to slowly unwrap the dried meats, chewing on a few pieces as he shifts his posture away from Hana in hopes he can be left with his thoughts once more. It isn’t that she’s bad company, but rather just company and nothing more. There is no energy left in him for the delicacies of speaking and chatter, no part of him ready to integrate with the bustle of the caravan, no matter how dampened.

But despite turning away with an aura strong enough to intimidate most, Hana sighs, and continues on. “He’ll be okay, y’know? Wherever he is. He’s the White Mage, he’s strong. He can take care of himself while we look for him,” Hana says softly, an attempt to cheer Iwaizumi up. “But... I’m sure you know that better than anyone.”

A lump lodges in Iwaizumi’s throat. He attempts to swallow it down, but can’t rid of the way it affects his words. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

Because it isn’t that he doesn’t believe in Hinata. It’s the feeling of powerlessness, one that isn’t foreign to him, one that he suppresses into the back of his mind along with burnt wood and smoke. It’s one that trickles through his walls every second Hinata is gone, reminding him that he can’t do anything to save him, wherever he is.

“Well,” Hana says, eyes moving from his face as she smiles once more. “You should sleep, at least. I can bring you a blanket if you wanna stay up here,” she offers. “Kyoutani’s been keeping watch, too. He’s got sharp eyes, but it’s low visibility. Hinata would spot us before we spot him. You won’t lose anything by taking a rest.”

Iwaizumi hums, drawing his attention down to his lap. He inhales deeply before meeting Hana’s eyes, not bothering to smile as he nods. “A pillow would be nice,” he tells her. “And… thank you.”

Hana’s eyes light up at his compliance. “It’s no problem,” she says. “Feel free to come down or let us know if there’s anything else you need. I’ll go ahead and get you a blanket and pillow.”

As she leaves, he’s left with the burning sensation of avoided truths he’s become accustomed to— he won’t sleep tonight, but will take Hana’s pillow for her sake alone. For his worry is his alone, and he will feel it as intensely as he feels everything else, in a body too small with a mind swollen large with thoughts, neverending, always racing. Iwaizumi closes his eyes and listens to the wind and prays for orange hair and bell-like laughter, prays for comfort from trees and no one else but Hinata once more.

—

There is no speaking between Hinata and Oikawa the following morning. The fire is put out, and Oikawa is pacing, drawing heavy tracks through the sand as Hinata stirs into consciousness. From there, there is no buffer of time for come to his senses before Hinata is forced into wakefulness by a stirring sensation in his gut he can only call apprehension. Oikawa does not spare him any morning greetings, and soon they’re left to continue their journey west, Oikawa ten paces forwards.

It doesn’t feel right, to not say anything after how far they’ve come. Hinata has no way of gauging their distance from the desert’s end, has not been counting the days, but time is time no matter where its spent. And despite the crushing weight of unrequited desire, Hinata swallows, raising his voice.

“Oikawa,” he says tentatively. Oikawa turns from his position in front of him, slowing his pace to meet Hinata’s eyes. Neither speak as Hinata watches the faint desert breeze blow through Oikawa’s hair. His hat shadows his face, giving brown eyes the illusion of an endless depth as he tilts his head, lips quirked.

“Was there something you wanted?” he asks, pulling Hinata from his trance.

“Ah— sorry— right!” Hinata stammers. “I was just… curious.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes before turning, facing away as he continues to walk. “Curious about what?”

Hinata walks faster to keep up with his strides, careful not to let the cloak drape in the sand. “Well… nothing big. It’s— I’m just wondering about you, is all.”

Oikawa falters at that, steps slowing as he straightens his shoulders. “You already know all you need to.”

Hinata frowns— pouts, a spout frustration welling up inside of him. “Just because I know what other people have told me doesn’t mean that's all there is to you.”

“Then what are you so desperate to know?” Oikawa asks, scowling as he whips around to come face to face with Hinata. “I’ll assure you now, an answer to any of your questions won’t help you understand, but by all means, try.”

There’s bitterness in Oikawa’s tone, enough to make Hinata seize as his eyes drift up to meet Oikawa’s. They're not pressed together, but are close enough that Hinata holds his breath for fear of brushing up against his chest. Hinata swallows as Oikawa’s cool gaze sweeps over him, hands gripping the fabric of the cloak as his pulse begins to speed, his chest throbbing from more than just his heartbeat.

“I just— I want—”

“You want what?” Oikawa presses, eyebrow raised half mocking, half jesting.

“I just want to know about you and— you and Hajime,” Hinata says, quiet. Oikawa takes a step back, but Hinata’s nerves force him to continue despite the rapid cooling of the air around him. “Hajime, he hasn’t said anything, and I know you two were friends, but he never talks about you and I just—“

“Stop,” Oikawa rasps, voice broken and vengeful and _grieving._  Hinata jolts, eyes lifting from his hands to stare up at Oikawa, standing a few feet away, eyes screwed shut as one hand balls and flexes at his side, the other covering his face. Hinata shivers, and the faint aura around Oikawa begins to darken from lavender to violet, deep and flickering as the tendons in Oikawa’s neck tense.

“Oi—Oikawa I—“

 _“Don’t,”_ he snarls, eyes shooting open to reveal nothing but darkness as his aura flashes black around him. “Don’t say those names,” he warns, an arm beginning to crackle with something dark, panic shooting through Hinata’s veins, before he twitches, eyes flickering back to human as Oikawa balls the splayed fingers into a fist, gripping his staff tighter. The aura lightens to a bright purple as the air returns to its usual stifling heat, and Oikawa swiftly turns once more, free hand shaking as he pulls it to his chest. Hinata breathes out the air he was holding as a fragile relief flows through him.

“We should continue,” Oikawa says quietly, voice rough yet unafflicted with any of the previous anger. “And you shouldn’t ask anymore questions.”

An apology dies on Hinata’s tongue as Oikawa resumes his pace, framed by a halo of magic darker than anything Hinata has come to know. His legs move on their own authority as his heart sinks to his stomach and curls, pulling him forwards towards the shadow in front of him, always a step further than he wants to be.

That night, as a fire burns between them, Hinata swaddles himself in a cape not his own and sits cross legged, staring at the corners of Oikawa’s eyes. He’s not here, not now, distant in how he looks not quite at Hinata, gaze falling just over his shoulder. Deep shadows casted by white flame flickering, acting as a mirror that shows the same pain on Oikawa’s face that Hinata feels. He wonders if Oikawa is no good at hiding what he feels, or if his guard is down, or if, for some inexplicable reason, the contortions on his face are shown because he wants them to be. Words burn in Hinata’s throat, and the ghost in Oikawa’s eyes is only drawn to him when he inhales sharply. They flit back with a renewed lifeforce, inquiring, picking Hinata apart as he speaks.

“I’m sorry… Dark Mage,” Hinata whispers, and doesn’t come to realize how akin to an arrow in the chest those words feel until the pain is echoed within him. “I won’t ask anymore questions… or say your name again.”

Oikawa’s aura crackles for just a moment as his breathing picks up, eyes going wide with horror or glee or some other emotion Hinata can’t recognize— he’s already begun to lay down, to close his eyes, to tie a bow on another finished day. Rib cage stitching itself tighter and tighter, Hinata focuses on the ever present whistle of desert wind and Oikawa’s breaths, unsteady, uneven. And just as worry begins to prick Hinata’s mind at the idea that he may have broken what lies between them, sleep wraps its hands over his mouth and pulls him under, his body succumbing to exhaustion in mere moments. The world, and Oikawa, wash away, along with the sounds of the wind and a heartbeat rapid, and not his own.

—

The stars shine bright, beams of light poked through the deep blue nothingness. It is so late in the midnight that days have been passed over, yet Oikawa still sits awake, in his usual state of restlessness as he wrangles the better part of his mind to the forefront of his consciousness. It’s an effort made in vain, one that has ever muscle and tendon pulled taunt and ever bone soaked through with exhaustion from merely existing. The small fire Oikawa had made curls darker than the sky itself, and as Oikawa’s eyes drift down from the sky to watch it dance, he finds himself missing the sight of shadows and colour playing across Hinata’s sleeping face. Tonight, he sleeps facing the other way, Oikawa’s cape still tucked around his head. It’s too much for Oikawa to handle, chest tightening and fire intrinsically swelling as he curls his hands around his staff.

“Not tonight,” he mutters, ducking his head between his legs. He can feel the thrall of magic pulling deep within his stomach like a familiar kind of sickness forcing itself out, worming deep into his chest until his breaths are hot and laboured and tainted with the power he keeps. “Not again.”

Hushed voices snap Oikawa out of his daze, eyes snapping open to stare once again at the fire. The murmurings are hushed from behind him, accompanied by the telltale noise of a blade being unsheathed. It scrapes heavy against its holder, an abrasive noise that has Oikawa’s hair standing on end before he can help it, nails digging into the gnarled wood of his staff as the voices grow closer.

“If you take out the one that’s awake, we can check the other for anything to help—”

The voice stops abruptly as Oikawa’s aura flares, a crack in a stone constitution giving way for an outpouring of darkness that curls around his limbs in a mere instant. The cacophony of whispers grow in volume, urging him to destroy, to break, to burn. Oikawa whips his head around, choking down the smile that threatens to split across his face at the sight of two young men, eyes widened with horror and reflecting the violent black light. The one holding the blade trails his eyes across Oikawa’s body, to the staff that curls with thorns, to fire that’s swollen thrice their heights behind him. With a cry of anger or fear, he throws the blade forwards, the dagger flying through the air with precision that shows experience, if not skill. But in the instant that the dagger leaves the young man’s hand, Oikawa’s moves on a foreign instinct so familiar, arm outstretched and fingers curled, the blade having frozen between them in midair as a gust of wind sends both men crashing into the sand. Blade falling forgotten in the sand behind him, Oikawa stalks forwards towards the two, listening to the desperation fueled whimpers that leave their lips as black energy begins to swirl around his palm.

“We just— we’ve been here for days, we just needed food—”

“Please, I’ll do _anything—”_

Oikawa’s heart slams against his ribcage as he closes the distance between them, both men scrambling backwards in a pitiful attempt to escape. The sand grows cold and blackened with every step he takes, staff hardly tipped in their direction as one of the men begins to seize up, eyes rolling back as his limbs tighten with invisible bindings. His companion stares at him in terror as Oikawa reaches down to wrap his hand around the neck of the bound man. Sparks of blackened electricity travel up his forearm and into the body of the man, igniting in a spectacular flash of black flame that seems to burn from the inside. His body moves in well known motions towards the second, the same black flame rolling off of his palm to engulf the other as the body drops from his grasp, the two men dead before their screams of agony can even leave their mouths.

And from the depths of his chest, Oikawa _screams,_ hollow and broken as the campfire grows into a blaze, burning outwards as Oikawa trembles, staring down at his hands. The staff falls to the ground at his feet, meeting not sand but smooth, black glass, fire curling at his feet and on his hands until they appear as black as the sky above. Oikawa screams until his voice is hoarse and then screams _more,_ out of anguish and hatred and horror of his actions, out of sadistic pleasure and guilt at the deranged excitement that courses through him like an aftershock of using his magic. It burns and hurts and pains him as he clutches his chest, the ache beginning to throb heavy enough to force him to his knees.

Oikawa wails like a child and feels himself curling over as the rage begins to dampen, fire burning lower and lower until it is just a border that rims the perfect sphere of black glass that stretches for miles around him. He heaves, nails digging into his palms, tears tracking down his face, and looks up, back towards Hinata, towards the campfire, towards the small peace he has long since shattered. And sitting there, cape not around his shoulders but blown back behind him, is Hinata— shocked into silence and stillness, confusion and concern wrapped up into a tearful gaze that has Oikawa praying he only just woke.

“How much,” Oikawa rasps, swallowing the knots in his throat. “How much did you see?”

Hinata blinks, eyes drifting beyond Oikawa to the ashes that swirl around him, blown by the winds of the fire. “I— I saw flame. And—” Hinata’s voice breaks. “I saw you.”

Oikawa inhales sharply, freezes in place and tears his eyes away. Hinata’s gaze burns more than any flame, bores deep into his soul and forces him to stand if only to walk beyond Hinata and swipe his cape from the ground, pulling it tightly around himself as he backs away, staff clutched tightly in hand.

“Forget you ever saw me,” Oikawa whispers, voice louder than the breaths of wind created by the wind that howls around them as the flames subside. Smoke begins to cloud at his ankles and rise, every ounce of his being pouring into the magic it takes to evade the guilt of Hinata’s eyes. “I am not worth your pity.”

The smoke thickens, and Hinata is obscured from sight, one last word breaking through the screen before the sounds of the desert varnish.

_Never._

And the sky above him changes, and the air grows frigid, and Hinata’s cries for him to stay become muffled by time and the infinite stretch of space. In a breath, he is no longer in the desert. He is no longer at Hinata’s side. He is no longer Oikawa Tooru— he never was.

He is the Dark Mage.

—

The next day, Hinata wakes to the sun beaming through his eyelids and smooth obsidian beneath him. Images, too vivid to be unreal, flash in the back of his mind— flames, bodies, black eyes engulfed in a purple aura. He doesn’t remember anything after Oikawa left, or how he fell back asleep, when he finally fell unconscious. All that remains is the feeling of ice on his skin and heat on his face, Oikawa’s body engulfing in smoke and shimmering black energy before disappearing into the night.

Now, he lies on his back, squeezing his eyes in a vain effort to stop his waking. He knows he should continue on, that his time with Oikawa was a silver lined fluke at best, but the fleeting hope that last night was only a dream lingers still. As long as his eyes are closed, it may never have happened.

But there is glass touching his skin and a deep throb in his chest, and Hinata is no longer so naive to think he is not alone. Taking a deep breath, he groans and slowing begins to blink open his eyes, acclimatizing to the bright sun and shadows cast across his face.

_Shadows?_

He opens his eyes further, squinting at the light only to see a sharp face staring him down.

Hinata yelps, reaching for his staff and scrambling backwards. The black obsidian is slippery, and he slides a few feet as the figure straightens to an immense height, looking down at Hinata without a change in expression. His chest is bare save loose white fabric pulled across it, his trousers baggy and fashioned from the same fabric. His eyes, hooded and without brows, fixate onto him without change, the only reaction to Hinata’s movement being the way he tips his head into a bow as Hinata catches his breath.

 _“Mother Goddess,_ you’re giving him a heart attack.”

Hinata jolts, whipping his head around to face another boy, shorter, but still tall enough to loom over Hinata. His soft brown hair blows in the slight wind, and his clothes, though fashioned from a gentle teal tone, look to be of a similar texture. He crosses his arms and sighs, looking over Hinata dubiously before a look of recognition washes over his face.

“Well, fuck me, then,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re the White Mage, huh?”

“What— where— who are you?” Hinata sputters, looking between the two strangers.

The smaller shifts his weight to his right leg. “Futakuchi,” he says, before nodding his head towards the man still staring Hinata down. “That’s Aone.”

Hinata drifts his eyes back up and over to Aone, who nods once in acknowledgement. Hinata offers a shaky smile before looking back over to Futakuchi in confusion, pushing himself up to his feet. “How’d you find me?”

Futakuchi raises a brow. “It wasn’t hard. The entire sky lit up last night, and come morning there was a giant black circle on the horizon. We— _I_ got curious and decided to scope things out. Aone was sent with me to _‘keep an eye on me’,”_ he says, making air quotes before huffing and putting a hand on his hip. “And you’re not exactly hiding, you know. It was pretty easy to find you.”

A pit grows in the bottom of his stomach as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, brain struggling to catch up to the sudden turn of event. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, nervously laughing. He tries not to think about Oikawa and fails, picturing once more the black pits of his eyes as ashes blow like clouds behind him.

“So, what the hell are you doing here?” Futakuchi asks, crossing his arms.

“Crossing to the West Forest,” Hinata tells him, ignoring how every mention of the west is accompanied by a pang in his chest and the longing for familiarity, for comfort. Iwaizumi comes to mind, all scales and worry imprinted into Hinata’s last memory of him, and it nearly leaves him reeling when he realizes how distracted he’s been from his goal over the last week.

Futakuchi quirks a brow. “Alone?”

“I was separated from who I was travelling with,” Hinata response, holding his staff closer to himself. “The Death Worm Leviathan kind of, uh, knocked me off the cart in a dust storm.”

Futakuchi whistles. “Amazed you got out alive. Did it do _this,_ too?” he says, motioning to the black circle around them.

Hinata’s chest tightens. “No,” he tells him, weight growing heavy on his shoulders, voice bogged down with exhaustion. “That was someone else.”

Whether by Hinata’s expression or from his own intuition, Futakuchi stops questioning him, choosing instead to sigh once more and look over to Aone. Aone wordlessly stares back, posture still rigid as Futakuchi purses his lips.

“Well, you’re not getting anything done by staying here,” he says, turning around. “C’mon, you can rest at the Oasis and see if you can’t signal your friend.”

“The Oasis?” Hinata asks, perking up with curiosity.

Futakuchi shrugs, looking over his shoulder. “Our town, if you could call it that. We don’t usually let strangers in, but considering you’re the White Mage… it’s a special case.”

Hinata’s eyebrows furrow in further confusion as he stands up. “You have a town in the desert?” he asks. “What about the Leviathan?”

Futakuchi scoffs. “That big worm? What about it?” he responds.

Hinata’s curiosity hits him in full, forcing him to choke down his own fear and trauma. “What— what do you _mean_ what about it? How—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Futakuchi cuts him off, waving his hand and walking off. “You’ll understand when we get there.”

Aone looks towards Hinata once before following Futakuchi, stopping every few feet to look back at Hinata, as if he were a puppy checking to see if his owner was far behind. Hinata stands, still balking in confusion, before hurrying forwards to catch up, slipping slightly on the obsidian. Aone, satisfied now that Hinata is beside him, picks up his pace, Hinata having to walk twice his speed to keep up with such long legs.

It takes a little over an hour for the horizon to change. Hinata first notices it in the sand— dusty brown lightening slowly until its a pearly shade of white, soft and bright and stretching out for miles around a peculiar sight. Several stone pillars lie toppled, surrounding by other buildings long decimated to rubble. The ruins stand out against the endless open skies, a sad sight of toppled civilization and one that looks to be long abandoned. Futakuchi continues leading them towards it until they’re face with the mouth of the broken archway, standing mere feet from an echo of what Hinata expected from a place hailed Oasis.

Unphased by Hinata’s confusion, Aone moves forwards, walking into the ruins and heading down the central clearing. Futakuchi looks back at Hinata, stepping aside in a mock gesture of chivalry with one hand extended.

“Guests first. Or second, in this case,” he says. When Hinata doesn’t move, he rolls his eyes, choosing instead to lean against one of the crumbling columns and stare out down the centre lane where Aone has since gone out of view.

Hinata huffs, the last bits of patience wrung out of him. He throws the rest of his caution out of the window and strolls through the demolished gates, nearly freezing when the entire oasis changes.

The buildings are still crumbled, but supported by thick desert vines and forced by wooden beams. The ruins are not collapsed as much as they are condescended, every crack housing some sort of life. An outpouring of baskets hangs down from chiffon awnings, overflowing with ripe fruit that threatens to fall out into the sand. But most of all, what strikes Hinata is the _green,_ the small flowers and the hearty shrubs and the blinding blue water in the centre of it all.

People come and go wearing much the same attire as Futakuchi and Aone, and Hinata can see the later now, standing beside one of the taller, perfectly intact buildings. It rises in steps, pyramid shaped and adorned in worn stone that may once have been immaculate and shining, but now is a softened echo of the past. As Hinata approaches, a large statue comes into view— a bust of a woman with long hair and a wide nose, arms outstretched in prayer. Out of all the structures in the city, the statue is the best kept. It glistens as if wet and sports no chipping or wear, only the soft edges that prove erosion and time have taken their toll. The face seems… familiar, though Hinata can’t place it. In a city so foreign, he chalks it up to coincidence, and turns back to the water.

It lies in a sloping valley, sparking in the sunlight and nearly blinding Hinata as he tries to focus. Around the shore are specks he assumes are people, gathering water or enjoying the joy of a swim. Smaller buildings lay scattered nearby, though Hinata can’t tell from the current distance if they are as old as the others. He takes a steps back, narrowly avoiding knocking into someone who stares at him with understandable confusion, and admires the sight of so much water after weeks in the dry dunes of the desert’s heart. It’s the most people he’s seen since he was in Kyuuchi with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and the sheer amount of bustle after so long of relative solitude is a shock to the system.

More than anything, it reminds him of who he spent his time travelling with— of Oikawa, of Iwaizumi.

He’s too engrossed in thought to notice Aone approaching him with Futakuchi at his side, their expressions unchanging and smug, respectively. Futakuchi smirks as if he was waiting to see Hinata’s dumbfounded reaction and walks right past him, heading towards the temple building.

“Come on,” he calls, walking past the statue and towards the darkened doorway. “There’s someone who’ll probably wanna see you.”

Confused once more, Hinata looks over to Aone, who stands waiting for him at the entrance. “Is he always like that?” Hinata asks, wiping sweat from his brow. Aone nods, leaving Hinata to balk at his continued silence. “Do you speak?”

Aone nods once more, eyes leaving Hinata to stare back at the doorway. Wordlessly, he walks indoors, not sparring Hinata a second glance as he disappears from view. Hinata looks back to the statue, at the water that hasn’t yet evaporated from the stone. With a deep breath, he ignores a chill creeping up his spine, and follows Aone through.

The inside of the temple is dimly lit, soft torchlight illuminating the ceiling that stretches high above his head. Hinata runs his hand along the rough textured wall as his eyes adjust to focus on the descending staircase in the middle of the room. It’s peaceful, seemly empty, and silent aside from a single, beautiful noise— running water.

Aone stands halfway down the central staircase, staring up at him patiently, lit by some kind of blue glow behind him. Hinata takes one last glance at the otherwise empty room before following him and the glow further into the temple. Habitually, he raises his hand and sparks a small glowing orb to lighten his path, using the wall as a guide as he stares down the stone hallway that begins to branch off. He scans his surroundings, noting the script engraved on the walls in a language he can’t understand, the torchlit pathways branching off to either side, and the main hall that continues wide and forwards into a large, circular room. But before his eyes find Aone once more, he spots someone else— a short haired girl kneeling at the base of a fountain in the shape of a woman, water pouring out of a wall from her hands and into a large basin. The girl’s upper body is draped across the rim, her eyes already trained towards him. She wears a look of surprise and concern on her face, brows pressed into worry lines as she used a long bow staff lying at her feet to push off the ground.

“Aone?” she calls out, eyes still trained on Hinata as she takes a step forwards.

A figure emerges from the shadows in the hall to Hinata’s right, leaving him to jump and look up towards the towering figure of Aone beside him. The girl softens, shoulders dropping as she extends an arm out towards them.

“So this is who you found on the horizon,” she says, a grin already beginning to grow. Hinata looks from Aone to the girl taking a step forwards.

“I was lucky he and Futakuchi found me,” he says, jumping as his voice echoes throughout the chamber, off of the pool of water that glows behind the girl. He clears his throat and quiets himself, intimidated by the trickle of water and low hum of bells rumbling through the walls. “I… where am I? Who are all of you?”

“You can call me Lady Yui. I am the waterkeeper of this temple. We welcome you to our Oasis, White Mage,” she says, smiling so wide the whites of her teeth show, cheeks round as she tucks her bangs back behind her ear. “We are a lost people. I know our city may be a ruin to some, but I hope that you’ll be able to make yourself comfortable here.”

“Th-thank you for having me,” Hinata mumbles, nerves showing through in the way he tucks his hands behind his back.

“No need for thanks, it’s an honor to have you here. Futakuchi has already told me of your situation or… at least the basics.” She chuckles, shrugging her shoulders. “He’s a bit distrusting, but means well. I hope we can help you as best we can.”

Hinata shakes his head, rubbing his eyes as his head starts to ache. “I— I’m sorry, I’m just… it’s been an intense few weeks,” he says. “We— Hajime and I— we never knew this was here. It wasn’t on the map.”

Yui laughs, echoing off the walls of the temple like wind chimes, bright and vibrant. “Of course it isn’t. The Mother protects us from the outside, after all.”

Hinata’s eyes drift up towards the fountain, to the woman with her broad nose and wavy hair, long enough to cover her chest, water falling from her hands. “The Mother,” he repeats slowly, biting his lip. “One of the gods?”

Yui nods. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her.”

“My village wasn’t large enough to have much of a religious presence,” he tells her. “I’ve never been inside of a temple before. This is the first time I’ve ever even seen one.”

At that, Yui’s eyes brighten, her grip on the staff tightening as she takes a quick step forwards. “I— I’m honoured!” she says, composed exterior breaking for a moment. “The Mother welcomes you— come, you must be parched.”

She reaches forwards and loosely grabs his wrist, guiding him towards the large basin the fountain pours into. The water has been siphoned off into different streams, some following the diverging hallways that surround the chambers, others moving back into the wall and out of sight. Yui pulls him towards the rim, urging him to lean forwards over the water. It glows a faint shade of blue, but it’s depth is indeterminable, the colour deepening away from the sides until it reaches a gradient of turquoise to teal. Hinata looks up at Yui, tilting his head in confusion.

“Do— can I just, like, drink?” he asks, hushing his voice. “Is that rude?”

Yui giggles, shaking her head. “You aren’t tainted with anything, White Mage. Besides, this water is to purify the soul. It’s been blessed by the Mother herself.”

Hinata’s eyes widen in amazement. “Really?”

Yui nods, leaning back. “Really. It’s why the ruins are intact, and why the Oasis thrives. We’re her people— she takes care of us. In exchange, we protect the water.”

The steady stream of water hums in the background as Hinata slowly dips his palms into the basin, filling them before lowering his lips to take a long drink. The water is cool and almost sweet, sliding over his lips and down his throat to cool his aching body, trickling down his chin to soothe the worn skin. He brings his hands away from his mouth and opens his eyes, watching as the leftover water glows, sinking into his skin and surging him with the same tingle of energy he feels whenever he begins to summon magic. It travels through his arms and to his chest, nestling next to the ache and dulling it, if only for a moment. It returns as Hinata’s hands stop glowing, leaving him revitalized and awake, eyes open wider, back straighter, attention no longer wandering but under his thumb, given solely to Yui as she smiles at his reaction.

“There are rooms here, in the temple, if you’d like somewhere comfortable to rest. I can have someone bring you fresh clothes and food, if you’re hungry,” she tells him. “I’d— I’d love— I’d be _honoured_ to hear your stories, White Mage, if you’d be kind to share them.”

“Hinata,” Hinata says, returning her smile. “Just call me Hinata. And of course! I’ll tell you as much as you want to hear— it’s the least I can do.” He pulls uncomfortably at his sleeves. “Do you have baths? I’ve been on the road for…” he trails off, brow furrowing as he tries to count the days since the Leviathan attack, since Johzenji arrived, since the outpost, since Matsukawa and Hanamaki. “...for a long time. It’d be nice to have the sand out of my hair.”

Yui nods, taking a stand. “Baths— yes, baths. That can be arranged. Aone?” she hums, looking back over towards where Aone stands, silent. “Can you take Hinata to the baths? You can use the ones for ritual cleansing.” She turns back to Hinata, drumming her fingers along her staff. “Do you mind being blessed? The baths are sacred, so you’ll just have to say a few words while you wash.”

“No no, that’s fine! Thank you Lady Yui,” he says, bowing his head before turning to Aone. “Lead the way!”

Aone nods, turning in a swirl of white robes. He leads Hinata down one of the many halls, the blue glow of the temple making way for the oranges of the torchlight. The temple’s interior is a maze of stone walls sporting ornately carved details, each image telling a small story that serves as a piece to a larger puzzle— Hinata finds three birds in a larger picture of an antelope, finds cactus made up of lizards and an ocean comprised of doves. They climb a small set of spiral steps crafted from stone— worn, but not crumbling. Here, they rise high enough for a small line of windows around the top of the wall to allow sunlight to pour in, catching dust in the air and illuminating their path.

Aone stops in front of a doorway shielded by a soft blue curtain, the fabric sheer enough for light to pass through, but opaque as not to leave the inside visible. Aone steps to the side, pulling back the curtain for Hinata to enter.

“Was there something I needed to do?” Hinata asks, uncertainty rising as he steps through. “Like, to be blessed?”

Aone stares at him for a few moments while Hinata’s stomach begins to bubble with anxiety at the thought that he’s somehow offended him. He’s cut off moments before he can apologize by a low, strong voice.

“Speak to the Mother,” Aone tells him, bowing slightly. Hinata stays still, frozen on the other side of the curtain and shocked to finally hear Aone speak as he drops the curtain and leaves him be, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the temple hall.

A sigh leaves Hinata’s lips as he scans the room he stands in, alone once again. The ground has been tiled in a gentle blue colour that blends into the large rectangular pool at the end of the room. Light shines from candles lit at the bath’s edge and from the thin window along the top of the wall where daylight reaches, brightening the room and exposing the smallest details. The walls here are smooth, unlike the textured carved exterior, matching the same gentle blue shade as the floor. As Hinata slowly removes his shirt and trousers, shaking out the sand, his eyes settle on the gold trim of the pool and the script engraved into it. It’s in a language he can’t read, the font curling at the edges of letters he thinks he may recognize and leaving him confused and lost. With a sigh, he strips the rest of his clothes and kicks them into a pile by the door, gathering the wash bucket to rinse himself of the loose sand before sinking into the bath.

The water is a blessing against his skin, chilled just enough to be refreshing without shocking him. As he lowers himself in, he finds himself treading water to stay afloat, the bath deep enough that he’s forced to grab the edge to rest. He can feel the dried sweat beginning to rinse from his hairline, can feel his muscles unwinding, and sighs, cheek pressing on the cool tile of the bath’s trim as he rests both arms out of the water.

“Speak to the Mother,” he mumbles, watching water drip on his arm. He feels guilty having even begun to savour the bath without completing whatever blessing was expected of him, foretold or otherwise. He glances once more around the room before closing him eyes and humming.

 _Mother,_ he thinks, imagining the statues of the goddess in and around the temple. Something about her demeanor, even when captured in stone, is familiar, bringing a kind of comfort he can’t shy away from. It rises images of Torino from the back of his mind, of his own mother and Natsu. He remembers fetching water from the well for her, remembers her teaching him to swim in the river during the summer, remembers boiling water and watching rice expand in the pot. He remembers the loom, all of the colours weaving together, remembers the warmth of her embrace and the salty taste of tears as she cried watching him leave. It’s been months since he’s talked to her, no correspondence possible when he’s been travelling so far from home. Such is to be expected, but here, in the heart of the desert surrounded by foreign scenes, he feels closer to her than he has since he left.

Suddenly, the water begins to glow a vibrant shade of turquoise, shimmering and sparkling as it catching each reflection of light. Hinata spins around, back pressing against the tile, and watches in awe as the droplets of water still on his skin twinkle, his veins sparking as if lit by flame. The water doesn’t feel cool or warm— it simply is present, another facet of himself he could control. He doesn’t, despite the strong sense of magic that radiates from the bath and from within. Somehow, he gathers that this isn’t meant for him to control. Somehow, he understands what Aone had meant.

The water’s glow slowly dissipates until it’s clear once more, leaving Hinata to catch his breath and steady his racing heart. His entire body is thrumming with a familiar sense of power, one that invigorates a body so tired from weeks of travel. He stares at his hands for a moment before sinking deeper into the water, letting his entire head be submerged. He listens to his own heartbeat drumming inside of his head and holds his breath, tries not to think about Oikawa and fails horribly. The water engulfs him, feeling all too similar to Oikawa’s cape, cool and comforting despite all odds. Oikawa’s frigidity was a breath of fresh air until it was frostbite, and yet here Hinata is, in the desert, wishing he wasn’t gone. Here he is, with the images of Oikawa wreathed in flame haunting the corners of his mind. Here he is, aching, wanting, _longing._

And it isn’t just for him. Because here, in the first real town since Kyuuchi, Hinata is surrounded by a kind of home he can only identify in one other person. And that person is somewhere in the desert, not knowing where he is, and that person is kind and strong and weighing heavy on Hinata’s heart right now, because he _misses_ him. He misses Iwaizumi and all of the guilt for being lost falls square on his shoulders.

Eventually, his breath runs out. Hinata rises up to the surface and drinks in the air, filling up his lungs once more. The splash of water echoes off of the wall and sounds more like music than anything else, but despite its beauty, Hinata can’t help but feel stifled. He closes his eyes slowly, resting along the ledge, and counts to ten. He imagines Iwaizumi’s smile instead of black flame and sinks as low into the water as he can be while still breathing. On each exhale, little waves ripple out across the pool. He can feel them as they brush against his fingertips, can hear the soft noises they make. The air is thick and humid but the water remains fresh and cool, easing him of his worries for a moment longer.

He hears the shift of fabric and whips around to see Futakuchi in the doorway, a basket in his arms. “Calm yourself,” he says, noting Hinata’s shock. “I’m just bringing you some clothes.”

Hinata blinks, and then nods slowly, the heat of his blush a sharp contrast to the rest of the water. It really isn’t possible for him to sink lower without completely submerging himself again, so he stays as is, watching as Futakuchi places the basket onto the ground. “Thank you,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah, no need to thank me,” he huffs. “Just doing my job.”

“Your job is laundry?” Hinata asks, tilting his head slightly.

Futakuchi sputters for a moment before rolling his eyes. “No I just— Lady Yui told me to. I’m not usually a temple hand,” he tells him. “She’s waiting for you in the main temple whenever you’re done. You can follow the blue paint on the wall to find your way back. I’m leaving now, so just shout if you need anything.”

Futakuchi doesn’t say anything else before he leaves, pushing the curtain back into place as he exits back into the temple. Hinata waits until he can no longer hear his footsteps before slowly exiting the bath, the water clinging to his skin keeping him from instantly sweating in the humidity. He reaches for one of the towels folded up on the wall and uses it to quickly dry himself as he makes his way over to the basket, bending over to pull out its contents— a flowing, long sleeved shirt and loose pants, both a pale shade of blue. Hinata can hardly see the stitching, and the fabric moves with him as he pulls each garment on carefully. The clothes are loose by design, but Hinata figures they aren’t too big on him, the sleeves only just coming down to his fingertips. It’s much more comfortable than the rough clothes he’s been wearing while travelling through the desert, caressing his skin with the gentlest of pressure as he follows Futakuchi’s instructions to find the main room once more.

Lady Yui is waiting for him when he returns, bow staff resting against the rim of the fountain where she sits. She lights up as Hinata appears, waving him over with a warm smile.

“White Mage— Hinata— was your bath alright?” she asks, folding her hands in her lap as Hinata sits across from her.

“It was wonderful. I feel… I feel like— like I can move an entire mountain,” he whispers, looking down at his hands. “It’s like when I first woke up, when I first realized I had magic.”

Yui’s eyes widen a fraction. “I— that’s— that’s monumental,” she says, looking him over. “The Fog comes from the gods, yes, but I’ve only ever had magic users feel more awake after the water. To feel more _powerful…_ Mother knows why you feel how you do.”

Hinata furrows his brow, pursing his lips slightly. “I mean… It isn’t a bad feeling, not in the least,” he explains. “I’ve always known magic stems from the gods and such, but since my mother was never the devote type, I never learned about them.”

Lady Yui hums. “That makes sense. In general, the gods are… well, it depends on your philosophy. Most followers of the Water Mother believe that gods simply created the chain of events, the wheel of cause and effect that we know as fate. They might be all knowing, but they can’t change our actions, per say,” she tells him. “Fate is a tricky thing, but I don’t doubt you already know that.”

The words of the oracle echo inside of Hinata’s head. “Yeah, I’m aware,” he says. “But… how is it possible for a place like this to exist? You said the Mother blessed this temple?”

“Many years ago, when the Twin Mages were still new,” she says. “But yes— this Oasis grew around the lake that was said to be a gift from the Mother to the people of the desert. For centuries— millennia— we protected that water, built an enormous city all around it. It was prosperous until it was destroyed by a monster burrowing in the sand.”

Hinata’s stomach sinks. “The Death Worm Leviathan,” he whispers.

Yui nods. “Yes. The Leviathans were still new, and as the story goes, when the survivors emerged from the rubble, the Mother was there, sitting on the ground, consoling her children. And since her people loved her, and since she returned that love, she instilled a protective magic around this Oasis— one that protects us from detection and from harm.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Hinata says, looking up to the fountain statue. “Does she have a name?”

“She does, yes, but no one calls their mother by her name, so it’s not spoken,” Yui tells him. “That is what makes her unique as a goddess— she takes on a role as a mother of all life.”

“Do you know much about the other gods? Do they come up in stories of the Mother?” Hinata asks.

“There are many— the elemental gods are the most commonly mentioned. Her counterpart, Nakahi, the goddess of fire, Jinoshima, of the earth, Hayashi, the god of the wind. Then there is the Lady of Fate, the goddess who watches over us all, who measures the flow of time, and of course, Shikisai, of death,” Yui tells him. “I’m not nearly as well versed in them as the Mother, though. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

Hinata chews on his lip, listening to the gentle patter of water as it falls from the fountain. “Do you know anything about oracles?”

Yui pulls a face, sighing slightly. “I can’t say that I do. All I’ve heard is that it’s a titled given to someone with incredible powers in divination— what makes you ask?”

“I’ve met one a few times,” Hinata tells her, watching shock find its way onto her face. “Three times now, but they say they’re… guiding me. It’s hard to understand their motives, and they’re very elusive. Half the time they’re speaking in riddles, which doesn’t help.”

“I would imagine they would be,” Yui mumbles, shaking her head. She shakes off her shock, eyes sparkling with excitement as she smiles up at him. “Tell me more about your travels— when did you first meet this oracle? What quest did they send you on?”

And he tells her, spending the rest of the night speaking of Torino, of the East Forest and the royal castle, of the prophecy and Lady Kiyoko. He talks until his stomach growls and Lady Yui insists of finding him a meal, and he talks as she leads him to a kitchen somewhere in the maze that is the temple halls. Aone is there, serving something from a pot for a few other people, and casts a smile Hinata’s way— small and barely recognizable, but there. Hinata scarfs down his food and indulges the questions of those that gather around him, quickly realizing that in a group of people raised in ruins in the heart of the desert, he is by far the best travelled. He talks about the river and the mountains and the small, wonderful things like snow and changing leaves, talks until he’s out of food and energy, eyes growing heavy. He’s lucky to be as tired as he is— when he’s led to the small room where he’ll sleep, with a real bed for the first time in over a month, he’s out before his head can even hit the pillow. The day and all of its emotions will reach him soon, but for now, he embraces this rest and the light fabric of his new clothes and linen sheets.

—

Kyoutani sits in silence next to Iwaizumi atop the caravan, whittling a chunk of wood with a blunt knife. Iwaizumi doesn’t mind the silent company. For all of the musical band of Johzenji’s well wishes, they can be overbearing at times. Kyoutani is silent, though rough around the edges, and means well in his own convoluted way. It shows in wanting to keep Iwaizumi company despite doing his utmost to isolate himself, and doesn’t go unappreciated.

The night is a still one, with the full moon bright and heavy in the sky. Iwaizumi doesn’t doubt that all of the harvests have long since been completed, and that all that keeps winter at bay is the endless dry heat of the desert. Even now, the nights grow frigid, and Iwaizumi finds himself wrapped up in cloth to maintain the heat he soaked up in the day. But he stays here, watching the horizon for any sign of Hinata, searching, looking. And for the first time since Hinata fell off of the caravan and into the sandstorm, he sees something.

It’s no more than light reflected in a sharp gleam against the horizon, but the twinkle unnatural enough to catch his eye. He jolts up right and squints, motioning for the driver to steer them closer, watching as the black mass in the distance blends in with the starry sky.

“What the hell is that?” Kyoutani mutters as they approach the stretch of black obsidian. It spans for miles in each direction, as far as their eyes can see, reflecting the bright light of the moon and each pinprick star in the heavens above. Iwaizumi holds out his hand and jumps off of the caravan as it jolts to a stop, running his hand along the stone and feeling the shivering jolt of dark magic travel from his fingertips.

“He was here,” Iwaizumi mumbles, looking from his hand out towards the horizon. “They both were.”

—

The small window near the ceiling of Hinata’s room shines bright come day. Hinata sleeps while light shines onto his face, letting himself rest as he comes to consciousness one cell at a time. His plan for the day consists of exploring the ruins and finding the means to continue west or contact Iwaizumi, but for now he catches as much sleep as he possibly can. He lies down until his mind begins to race with worries and thoughts of the day to come, until his body begins to twitch with anticipation to do _something_ other than stay still. Only then does he rise, grab his staff, and seek out a guide to show him the town.

Yui is waiting for him in the kitchen area, a plate of strange fruits lying out in front of her. She rubs her eyes and waves him over, handing him a clay plate engraved with geometric designs and a spool of some thick kind of syrup. He samples a little bit of everything as he tells her his plan for the day, tasting strange pears and fruits he never knew could grow in such heat. Yui listens intently, drumming her fingers on the table as Hinata finishes up.

“Well, I’m not sure what’s available in the way of transportation…” she says, biting her lip. “We can check, though, because there’s no way I can let you leave as you came.”

“Something is better than nothing,” Hinata tells her with a smile, bouncing his leg under the table. In truth, he’s grown restless without someone to lean on, because while the experience here has been nothing but welcoming, he can’t help but feel as if he’s being summoned, as if the ache in his chest is growing with every minute he spends not travelling forwards.

Suddenly, Futakuchi bursts into the room, looking more frazzled than Hinata has ever seen him with hair out of place and his shirt slipping off of one shoulder. He freezes in the doorway and catches his breath as Yui stands up abruptly, her hands flying to her staff.

“Futakuchi?” she asks, walking forwards. Hinata turns to follow, his own staff held tightly in his hands. “What is—”

“Someone walked through the gates,” Futakuchi says, his voice slow and distinctly surprised. “And he can see us.”

Yui is only shocked for a moment, shaking herself out of it before pushing past Futakuchi and into the hall. Hinata rushes after them both, tripping slightly over the hem of his pants as they weave through the halls.

“Did he say anything?” Yui asks as they begin climbing the steps. “He isn’t armed, is he?”

Futakuchi sighs. “Well, he’s got a giant sword, but it wasn’t drawn. He’s claiming to be a knight from the capital—”

“He’s what?” Hinata shouts, pushing between the two as his heart speeds up. “Is— what— that has to be him!”

He surges past them, taking the stairs two at a time as Yui calls after him. “Wait, who?”

“Hajime!” Hinata shouts back, not even sparing them a glance.

The streets aren’t bustling like the day prior. Hinata squints at the bright light and whips his head around, looking past the huddles of people with shifting eyes, following their gaze down the street. He takes off in the direction of the gate, struggling for a foothold as he runs and slipping in the white sand. People give him a wide berth, stepping out of the way as he darts through the bodies and towards the ruined entrance arc, where a small crowd has gathered. Hinata bumps shoulders with the crowd until they too begin to move, giving him a clear view of who stands in the centre.

Iwaizumi doesn’t look too different from the day they parted. He wears his skin instead of scales here, but his eyes are warm and golden and still split like a reptile, his brows furrowed how they always are when he worries, crystal necklace dangling from his neck. He’s already looking in Hinata’s direction, hope written across a face that shows tiredness as a sigh of relief, as a smile that grows and grows and grows to show every pointed teeth in his arsenal. Hinata takes off running and doesn’t stop, throws his arms into the air and jumps, chest soaring even as Iwaizumi reaches to catch him. He’s pulled in tight and it’s crushing and warm and all of the comfort Hinata yearns for as he’s spun in a circle, laughter bubbling up from his stomach before he can stop it. His nose finds a home tucked into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck and here, he can hear his heart thumping faster than ever before, mirroring his own.

They don’t part at first— Iwaizumi hugs him and hugs him still, even when his feet touch the ground. Hinata pulls away to look up at him, to smile, to wipe tears that have finally broke after weeks of harrow, hands clutching Iwaizumi’s arms to make sure he doesn’t vanish.

“You found me,” he whispers, voice cracking.

Iwaizumi cups Hinata’s cheeks, thumbs caressing away the tears that fall. “I never stopped looking.”

Hinata laughs at the absurdity of it all, shaking his head as heat rises to his cheeks. “Hajime, I… I…”

“It’s alright,” Iwaizumi tells him, hand dropping to rest on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now. What matters is that you survived.”

“You did too,” Hinata says, bumping his chest.

Yui and Futakuchi approach, slowing to a light jog as they spot Hinata in the crowd. Hinata takes a step away and waves them both over, unable to stop the grin that’s plastered on his face. “Hajime, meet Lady Yui and Futakuchi,” he says, motioning to the two. “This is Iwaizumi Hajime. He’s who I’ve been travelling with.”

Iwaizumi bows, his shoulders straightening reflexively. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“So you really are from the Royal Order, huh?” Futakuchi says, whistling. “How the hell’d you see through the shield’s illusion?”

“I’m… strong against illusions and charms,” he tells him, speaking slowly. Hinata notes the way his knightly tone is impacted by the lingering happiness in his expression, the upturned lips and the glances spared Hinata’s way every few seconds. “The rest of our party is waiting a mile or so away. I’m eternally grateful for how you’ve helped Shouyou.”

Yui waves him off, blinking rapidly through her surprise. “No! No— it really is my duty. I’m just happy that you’ve reunited,” she says, smiling between the two.

Iwaizumi looks back at Hinata. “So am I,” he mumbles, eyes softening. Hinata reaches out and squeezes his hand, feels a tickle of warmth spread throughout his chest. He looks towards Yui once more. “As much as I’d love to stay, we should head off. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Is there anything you need before you head off?” Yui says, turning around to search the crowd. “Aone? Aone— can you grab— oh!”

Aone makes his way forwards with a bag in hand, offering it to Hinata and Iwaizumi with a nod. “Provisions,” he says simply, bowing once when Iwaizumi takes it. Hinata flashes him a smile, and Aone responds with one of his own, albeit not more than a twitch of his lips.

“I think that should be all we need,” Hinata says, looking back to Iwaizumi. “You ready to continue?”

Iwaizumi, still holding his hand, squeezes it, firm and reassuring. “If you are, I am.”

Hinata bows to Yui, Futakuchi, and Aone. “Thank you— for everything.”

“It’s nothing,” Futakuchi says.

“It’s an honor,” Yui replies, elbowing his side.

Aone nods.

Hinata stifles a giggle as he gives them one last glance before turning around. With Iwaizumi at his side, they leave the ruins behind them, and continue on, away from the Oasis, and back into the heart of the burning desert. Hinata’s chest swells and swells despite the ache, and he stares— not at the black glass on the horizon, but at Iwaizumi. He stares at his smile and listens to everything he says, and breathes the beautiful silence that comes alongside simply existing in the same space once more.

—

The travelling bards of Johzenji welcome Hinata back with loud music and bright colours. Hinata helps light lanterns in the corners of the room and claps along to the music, soaking in the lighthearted nature of the musicians as he leans up against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. The two sit cross legged on the ground inside the caravan, every jostle and bump pushing them closer together. Hinata giggles and presses tighter to him, Iwaizumi slowly wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Terushima finishes a jaunty tune on the fiddle with flourish of his bow. Hinata claps quickly, laughing louder as Terushima bows and plops down in front of them.

 _“Man,_ it’s good to have you back,” he says, smiling wide. “Iwaizumi here was so, like, _brooding_ with you gone. I kept telling him, _hey, dude, he’s the White Mage so it’s not like he’s gonna die,_ but he was still really torn up about it.”

Hinata looks up at Iwaizumi, whose mouth has twisted up and pressed thin. “I think anyone would be worried,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, arm growing tighter around Hinata’s shoulders. Hinata smiles, bright and soft, and elbows his side softly.

“I’m back now,” he tells him. “And I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Iwaizumi shifts his gaze to Hinata, their eyes meeting in time for Hinata to watch Iwaizumi’s pupils widen from their usual slits. It’s an endearing trait to watch, the expansion and shrink of keen eyes. Iwaizumi offers him a smile in return, softly nudging him back.

A beat of silence passes as Hinata yawns, stretching out the arm not pressed between him and Iwaizumi as his stomach growls. “I’m gonna grab something to eat, do you want anything?” he asks. When Iwaizumi shakes his head, he turns to Terushima, whose eyes flicker with mischief.

“Ask Hana where the moonshine is,” he says with a wink.

Nodding dutifully, Hinata moves as Iwaizumi’s arm drops from his shoulder and makes his way over the group of people laughing and plucking strings. With Hinata now out of earshot, Terushima focuses all his attention on Iwaizumi, slyly leaning forwards onto his elbows. Iwaizumi eyes him suspiciously, bringing his own cup of water to his lips to take a sip.

“So…” he says, drawing out the word as he smirks. “Are you and Hinata like, lovers or something?”

Iwaizumi nearly chokes on his drink, coughing as he inhales sharply and hits his chest. Terushima cackles, plucking a few of the strings on his fiddle as Hinata makes his way back over, concern ridden in his features as he looks Iwaizumi up and down.

“Are you okay?” he asks, handing Terushima a mason jar of an orange liquid as he sits down next to him.

“Y—yeah, I’m fine,” Iwaizumi says, voice still rough. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

“Well! I’ve got my answer— now let’s get back to celebrating!” Terushima exclaims, holding up the mason jar. He sets his fiddle down and pries off the lid, some of the liquid splashing over the side and onto his hand. Hinata laughs and takes a sip as its passed over to him, puckering at the taste but enjoying the warmth it leads to. When it’s passed to Iwaizumi, he takes a long drink, Terushima cheering him as he chugs it down and passes it back. He eventually pulls Hinata closer, and despite the ache in his chest that hasn’t yet dampened, Hinata enjoys the moment, smiles, and prays that this feeling will never vanish.

—

But of course, it does.

Over the days spent travelling, Hinata spends more time awake than asleep, dreams of black flame and glass on every horizon, of cold, distant words that choke throats and burn him alive— of Oikawa. The Dark Mage’s face flickers in his mind's eye as he closes his own, the memory of smoke gripping his chest and tearing it open. Iwaizumi hasn’t asked— he never asks, only _knows—_ and Hinata isn’t sure if he should be thankful or not. He’s unsure of the words he would even say, if he was asked. Hinata still doesn’t know of the story between them, between Oikawa and Iwaizumi when they were just kids. His curiosity burns, but more so does the reminder that thanks to that curiosity, Oikawa left, bringing them back to where they started— not quite enemies, but knives aimed for each other’s necks.

The desert terrain changes little by little, in increments too small to notice all at once. Sand turns to clay turns to coarse, dry dirt, the air growing cooler and cooler in the day. Clouds begin to sweep overhead and cast shade across their caravan as they go along, and hearty grasses sprout up around them. Hana tells them that the town closest to the desert border isn’t far away, leaving Hinata filled with useless anticipation that serves only to make him restless despite the ache.

He hasn’t talked to Iwaizumi about what had happened after they were separated. The weight of that secret sits on his back and presses down into his spine until he’s forced to buckle under its weight, to face the guilt of a hundred things gone wrong. He was the one who scared Oikawa off, who set off the trap, who poked the sleeping bear. He woke too late— too late to know what people became ashes, too late to hold Oikawa back, too late to see the signs of pressure breaking through.

Iwaizumi notices. His eyes follow Hinata more often, and for some odd reason, whenever Hinata finds himself awake at night, Iwaizumi is there.

He only wishes he didn’t have to be. He remembers the moment he held Oikawa’s hand in his, wishing that things could be different. He remembers and wishes for the softness of skin pressed against his. He remembers fire and ash and the cool touch of silk and glass underneath him, so opposite to the burning pain inside of him when Oikawa vanished once more.

It keeps him up at night— it _aches._  He usually finds himself gripping his chest, twisting the fabric of shirt beneath his fingers in hopes it helps alleviate the pain. It doesn’t. It never does.

—

They come across the town Hana spoke of as the sun begins to set, a chill heavy in the air. The buildings are crafted from stone and wood, with angled roofs and dry, dead shrubs lining the sides of houses. Hinata pulls out his cloak from his bag and slips it over his shoulders, the familiar weight comforting as they slow to a stop and pile out of the caravan. The lizards are fed, and the musicians of Johzenji take a break to stretch their legs as Hinata and Iwaizumi gather their things. Kyoutani hops off the cart with a grunt, seemingly unbothered by the chill in the air.

“This is where we leave you, then,” Hana says with a smile, looking towards the town. “We’ll start heading north, around the desert, and hopefully by the time we reach the East River, the bridge will be fixed.”

“Yeah! And maybe winter will be over once we get there— we can spend it all in the desert,” Terushima adds. He’s hardly dressed for the chill that blows through the wind, hands shoved under his armpits to retain warmth. Still, he grins wide, looking a little ridiculous.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Hinata says, the tiredness in his own voice surprising him. Goodbyes always hurt, but coupled with the ache that numbs his bones, this one feels almost final. “For— for taking us here and for the food and—”

“It’s no issue!” Hana assures him, waving her hands. “Whatever we can do help.”

“We may have almost died, but at least it was fun, right?” Terushima jokes. “It was a once in a lifetime experience! Travelling with the White Mage, a knight of the Royal Order, fighting a leviathan... we could even write a song about it in your memory.”

Iwaizumi bows, adjusting his sword where it’s strapped to his back. “That’s one way to look at it,” he huffs, straightening and dropping his shoulders once the formality has been completed. “It was nice travelling with you.”

Terushima turns to Kyoutani, offering his hand. “We always got room for another player, if you want.” Kyoutani rolls his eyes, and turns to head towards the town. With a jokingly overdramatic sigh, Terushima hops back onto the caravan, climbing up onto the top. “Good luck with all your travels!” he shouts, earning a sigh from Hana as she hops onto the back. “And don’t forget to tell the king about us, okay, scales?” He points to Iwaizumi, raising a brow.

Iwaizumi chuckles, his scales shimmering as their caught in the sunlight. He waves, and Hinata joins in, watching as the caravan slowly begins to pull of into the distance. Hinata sighs, leaning onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder as his eyes close. Exhaustion sweeps over him in waves, and Iwaizumi seems to notice, letting him simply stand there for a minute. Hinata breathes in the scent of earth that clings to his clothes, feeling his shoulders unwind slowly.

“There’s an inn up ahead,” Iwaizumi murmurs, hand resting on Hinata’s lower back. “C’mon— you need some rest.”

Hinata nods, him and Iwaizumi walking towards where Kyoutani stands at the front of an inn. He pushes open the door, Iwaizumi catching it and holding it for Hinata as they enter and spot a boy with a shaved head sitting at the bar. He waves as a boy slips from the door behind the bar, fluffy brown hair bouncing as he heaves a plate onto the bar and waves them over.

“You folks look a little worse for wear,” he says, eyes hovering over Kyoutani for a moment. “How many rooms? I can run you some hot water if you need to get all that sand off.”

“Are you the owner?” Hinata asks.

The boy wipes his hands off on his pants. “Yeah, you could say that. My name is Yahaba,” he says with a polite bow. “So, what’ll it be?”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to respond, but is quickly cut off by Kyoutani.

“I don’t have money,” he grunts, crossing his arms. “Any job openings?”

Yahaba blinks as the boy at the bar laughs. “Funny how things work,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “Yahaba was just complaining about the lack of hands.”

Yahaba narrows his eyes before sighing loudly, pulling a hand towel from his apron and dropping it on the counter. “Yeah, well, I’ll give you a room for the night, and tomorrow you can see if you can hold your weight,” he says before turning to Iwaizumi and Hinata. “What about you two?”

“A room with two beds will suffice,” Iwaizumi says.

“Roger that,” Yahaba responds, heading over to the rack where a bunch of keys hang and plucks one out. Hinata fishes a few coins from his pouch as Yahaba hands Iwaizumi keys to the room.

“We’ll likely leave come morning, so it’s just for the night,” Iwaizumi says.

“Well, welcome to Kansei,” Yahaba hums. “Where are you heading?”

“West Forest,” Hinata tells him simply.

Yahaba narrows his eyes, looking Hinata up and down. “Huh,” he says. “Well, good luck, and let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do!” Hinata chimes, somewhat half-heartedly, allowing himself to be led down the hall and towards their room, Iwaizumi not far behind with their stuff. His heart and his arms feel heavy with the weight of travelling so long. When they finally make it to their room, it's like a breath of fresh air all at once, to finally be able to _rest._

The rest of settling in is a blur of flopping down on beds and tossing things down haphazardly. He hears Iwaizumi’s soft laughter as he snuggles his face into the soft pillows and sheets. His chest bubbles lightly, but does nothing to alleviate the pain, the images of Oikawa still flashing across his eyelids.

“You falling asleep?” Iwaizumi asks from beside him. Hinata grumbles, shaking his head.

“M’not,” he says with a huff and a pout, rolling over. “Wouldn’t be able to anyways.”

When Iwaizumi doesn’t respond right away, Hinata looks over at him, taking in the way his gaze falls down to his hands. Slowly, he moves to sit at the edge of Hinata’s bed. His shoulders are tense eyebrows furrowed in an expression Hinata can’t decipher as he sits up, concerned and confused. There’s a strange kind of light filtering through thin curtains, the sky, void of sun, still bright enough to cast an eerie glow in the room.

“Shouyou,” Iwaizumi says, tone cautious, but certain.

Hinata’s own shakes in response. “Y-yeah?”

Iwaizumi stays silent for another beat, as if mulling over his words. “Oikawa… he was there, wasn’t he?” he asks, voice low and soft, _sad._ “He brought you to the Oasis.”

Hinata can’t be shocked— not when he’s already witnessed Iwaizumi’s ability to read between the lines. He nods, a weight sliding off of his shoulders as he pulls his knees to his chest as he begins to shake. “He… I asked about you, the night before Aone and Futakuchi found me.” He grips hard onto his sleeves, trying to control the tremble in his voice. “He— Hajime, he _killed_ somebody. He— he was on fire, and then the sand just… turned to glass.”

Iwaizumi reaches forwards, holding his shoulder with a hand warm and welcome. “I know,” he whispers, gentle. “I know, because I’ve seen it before.”

Hinata looks up, allowing himself to be shocked as he inhales sharply, watching pain and grief cross Iwaizumi’s face. His brow is soft and eyes bittersweet, hand rubbing Hinata’s shoulder in deliberate circles as Hinata’s heart beats heavy against his ribcage.

“And I know you two are going to continue to meet, and eventually…” Iwaizumi trails off, not wanting to speak the inevitable that Hinata, too, doesn’t want to face. He grimaces, shoulders dropping, before he sits back up straight and faces Hinata, locking their eyes together in a way that has Hinata straightening up as well.

“Before that, you should know. What happened to him all those years ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! you can always hit us up on twitter @mookzymooks; @lesbianiwaizumi or on tumblr @mooksmookin; @lesbianoikawa
> 
> next chapter will be (hopefully) uploaded October 31st, the 1 year anniversary of this fic! can you believe it? neither can i. see you then!


	13. The Dark Mage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WASSUP GUYS WE'RE FINALLY BACK WITH THIS CHAPT as we did with chapt 8 the trigger warnings will be in the end notes so if you want to take caution dont be afraid to take a peek down south  
> anyway i just wanna say im so glad that we can finally get this chapter out here to the public. this is a chapter we've been looking forward to since before we started the fic. how ironic it is that its chapter *13* too am i right??  
> also HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO THIS FIC its officially a year (and a month and some) old and im so proud of how far its come and i just. this fic means so much to me my dudes thank you all so much for your continuous support much love xoxo
> 
> —
> 
> hey guys! wow, what a doozy this one will be. im assuming mooks will hit up the trigger warnings but be careful this chapter!!! however, this is probably the most important chapter to date, so if youre theorizing, pay attention...  
> to be real tho mooks and i started watching naruto so like thank u to sasuke and gaara for having tragic backstories to help also thank you to caleb widowgast from critical role for the tragic backstory i think thats all the tragic backstories i experienced writing this OH sasoris as well naruto is full of those huh  
> i hope you enjoy this chapter!!! lmk what u think in the comments or my dms !!! -kj

The village of Shitsumei is lively for all of its sleepy construction, leaves heavy with the rainwater from the night before. What ground isn’t paved with well worn cobblestone is coated in a thick layer of pine needles, softening the heavy footfalls as Oikawa runs down the street. People freeze as he darts through their legs, their laughter a distant tone behind him while Oikawa runs off. Even with the air biting into his skin, Oikawa can’t help but join in, chest warm enough with joy.

Today, the merchants are in town, their caravans set up in the main square where wooden posts support lanterns to be lit at night. The crisscrossing pattern of strings sways as a mobile would, gently blowing back and forth over the wares spread out at the merchants’ table. Oikawa jumps, extending his arm high above his head in vain attempt to brush his fingertips against one of the unlit lanterns, and as the breeze blows through his hair and sends his little cloak billowing, he hears a deep hearty chuckle. Oikawa lands and turns his head, staring inquisitively toward the source of the laughter— a stout man with a large mustache and a heavy parka draped over the back of his chair. He sits with the rest of the merchants, a smile identifiable only by how his bushy mustache rises.

“What’re you doin’, playing round here?” he asks, voice rough and bodied.

Oikawa straightens his back and approaches the man’s table. “I’m not playing,” he tells him, holding out his basket. “I’m here to buy things. Mama sent me.”

The man raises an eyebrow, leaning forwards. “Did she now? You ain’t older than nine, eh?”

“I’m seven, but I’ll be eight soon,” Oikawa says, attention already piqued by the shimmering purple stones displayed on velvet cloth. What gentle sunlight peaks through clouds manages to send thin beams of light in all directions, glowing softly against Oikawa’s robes. Though jagged and rough, they are undeniably beautiful. “Are these… amesth— amethyst?”

“Ho!” the man exclaims, leaning back. “A smart one, aren’t’cha? Your mama tell you to get some stones?”

“Yep!” Oikawa lies, flashing a bright smile. “She wants new pots and pans and a very, _very_ nice stone.”

The man guffaws, picking up a large, jagged piece. It’s mostly crystal, but its base is still of normal rock, giving Oikawa a nice base to grab onto. “Tell you what,” he says, passing it to him. “You give me seven silver, and you get to give your mama this. Sound like a deal?”

With his free hand, Oikawa fishes through his coin purse, the coins chiming as he counts out seven and drops them onto the velvet. In one smooth motion, Oikawa pockets the crystal, chest swelling with pride and glee as the man waves him off. There’s bustle in the square, and as Oikawa scampers on his way to the vendors selling metal works, he’s met with bright smiles and waves.

The merchants are as jovial as the man who sold Oikawa the stone, taking his coins with faces of fondness. Proximity to the city of Fukuroushi makes these vendors familiar with the tiny forest town, and though they may not remember his face, Oikawa’s childhood innocence is infectious all on its own. As the soft breeze pushes through heavy evergreen needles, creating a whisper of forest breath, Oikawa makes his way back home. With pots and pans balanced precariously in his arms and a crystal weighing his pocket down, it’s a slow process. He refuses the help offered to him more than once— afterall, it’s his first trip truly alone.

His mother is waiting for him inside their home. It’s fashioned from stone with cedar panels on the inner walls, making every breath smell like the magic of the forest that surrounds them. Oikawa breathes deeply before plopping his purchases onto their kitchen table. He makes sure to place each pot and pan in a way that makes them clearly noticeable before spinning around to face his mother with an expectant smile.

“Tadah!” he exclaims, motioning to the goods behind him.

His mother wipes her hands on her apron, then sets them on her hips as she looks over the assortment with a smile. “My my, didn’t you do well?”

“I did, didn’t I?” Oikawa’s voice is bright and clear, filled with satisfaction.

His mother places a hand to his cheek, holding it for a moment. “Of course you did, honey.”

Oikawa closes his eyes and leans into her touch and her kind words, kissing her wrist once before bounding backwards. “I’m gonna go play, okay?”

His mother laughs, nodding as he runs towards the door. “Okay, Tooru, be safe!”

Her words fall upon deaf ears, Oikawa already out the door, racing towards the trees. The walking paths behind his home are in a permanent state of overgrowth, with spongy moss cushioning each footfall and saplings brushing thin branches against his hands. Pine needles whisper alongside the wind, sharing secrets in the language of trees centuries older than any person Oikawa knows. Each trunk he passes is thick and coated in lichen, the first branches metres above his head. He passes through the shadows and each beam of light that managed to break through the foliage, turning right at the overturned trunk whose roots curl around various boulders and dirt. This route is familiar, is filled with footsteps he’s taken many times before.

It isn’t long at all before he reaches an erratic; the rock sits proud despite how its massive size sticks out in the wooded surroundings. Veins of quartz sparkle dully from behind patches of moss, and though the vegetation covers its natural beauty, it makes for a comfortable place for Oikawa to rest his head.

All that is left is to wait for Iwaizumi to appear.

There’s never any way of knowing when he’ll show up, but each time Oikawa has wandered into the woods, he’s arrived. It starts in the distant rumble of the forest floor, before moving into the trunks of trees. The whispering needles begin to gossip until their noise drowns out any and all thought. The weight of the amethyst in his pocket intensifies as a green blur flashes across his eyes. A grin splits across Oikawa’s face as he spins around, following the rustling sounds and the snaps of branches. Each thump against the ground is accompanied by the shifting of wood until the forest settles once more. Oikawa finishes his circle to face the erratic once more, only now, a familiar face is perched atop.

“Finally, Hajime, I thought you wouldn’t show!” Oikawa laughs, jumping onto the rock. It takes a moment to find footholds, but once his feet are steady, he climbs to the flat surface where Iwaizumi sits, or rather, crouches.

Oikawa has never thought of Iwaizumi as animalistic, but any child of a dragon would be feral at best. The green scales that coat him from head to toe match the hues of the forest foliage perfectly, each leaf and needle finding it’s shade in the shimmering hide. Iwaizumi mirrors Oikawa’s smile to expose rows of pointed fangs, sharp and unlike any Oikawa has ever seen. But he’s used to this appearance, is used to Iwaizumi and all of his quirks. They are best friends, after all.

“I bought you something from the market,” Oikawa tells him, excited as he crawls closer. He reaches into his pocket and hides it between his palms as Iwaizumi looks over him curiously, head tilted to one side. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands, ‘kay?”

Iwaizumi blinks, his slit pupils widening a fraction before he obliges, hands rising from where they were splayed on the ground. He shifts his weight onto his backside and offers up palms toughened with dragonhide scales, each talon curved to a pointed tip. Oikawa drops the crystal into his palms and sits back cross legged as Iwaizumi opens his eyes.

Wonderment writes itself over his face as he instantly brings the crystal up to his eyes, inspecting it carefully. “What’s this one in Human?”

“Amethyst! Its from way up north where it’s _always_ snowing. I bought it from the merchants all by myself,” he boasts. Iwaizumi pauses halfway through raising the crystal to his mouth, furrowing his brow.

“I still don’t understand how… money works,” he tells him. He bites down on the amethyst and breaks off a chunk of rough rock it was attached to, spitting it onto the forest floor.

“But you haven’t got anything like this in your collection, right?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, content now to hold the crystal in one hand. He copies the way Oikawa sits, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s new and perfect.” His eyes glow with compassion, a small smile glued to his cheeks as he stares Oikawa down with intensity and purpose. “Do you wanna climb trees?”

Oikawa’s eyes light up as he stands. “Let’s see who can climb the highest! I’m gonna win this time for sure!”

That’s how they spend the rest of their day, racing each other up the trunks of the younger trees whose branches make easy holds for Oikawa. Iwaizumi, unsurprising, wins each time, his claws digging through the bark with ease. He waits for Oikawa to meet him on a sturdy branch, yanking him up by the arm so that they can sit next to one another, looking out at the ground below them. When Oikawa catches his breath, he turns to Iwaizumi and says, _“Again?”_ as if there is any other option but yes. And the cycle repeats again and again until Oikawa’s hands have grown a bit red and the tree trunks sport new grooves that leak sap where Iwaizumi clawed too deep. They lie on their backs amidst the cool earth, giggling and breathing heavy. It isn't until Oikawa’s stomach growls that he resigns, begrudgingly, to the fact that he should head home.

“Will you meet me here tomorrow?” he asks Iwaizumi, hope clear in his voice.

Iwaizumi nods quickly, grinning back at him. “Of course. If you bring food you can stay longer. You always forget that.”

“Well, sorry I don’t wanna eat forest berries,” Oikawa chides, playfully sticking out his tongue. “See ya, Hajime!”

“Bye Tooru!” Iwaizumi calls back, before disappearing into the forest once more.

The walk back to his house passes by in mere seconds with the prospect of dinner on the horizon. His sister greets him at the door with a bump of her hip as she carries in a basket filled to the brim with apples. The smell of stew wafts from the kitchen, and his father has already set the table, and everything in his life is _perfect._

Until, of course, it isn’t.

—

The village edge is home to the best hiding spots Oikawa knows. He passes by the old, forgotten wells and kneels down in the earth by the trunk of a long dead tree. There’s a cavern created in the shelter of the roots and a small nook from where the bark has rotted away. Morning dew clings to the ivy leaves that curl along the trunk and its roots, cool to the touch as Oikawa breaks the steam and picks off enough to braid and thread through a small gathering of wildflowers he’s collected. Though their petals are small and bruised, they come together to create a bushel with a fair amount of charm. The tiny bluebells clash with the pink and orange weeds that grow rampant near his neighbour’s home, but wrapped up together, Oikawa hopes they’re pretty enough to earn their place on the kitchen table.

He’s plucking a fanned fern from the ground when a tiny rustle from below gains his attention. Oikawa looks down towards his boots to see a small rabbit, its coat halfway between white and brown, sitting by his feet. His muscles seize up in excitement as the rabbit begins to sniff his boots before moving onto the pile of wildflowers. It noses its way through before nibbling on a few of the plants, and Oikawa, too stunned to remember his bouquet, lets it. His hands stay still where they lie amongst the roots, knuckles white as he focuses his energy into not scaring the rabbit away. It continues to eat and pay Oikawa no mind, as if he were nothing more than another trunk in the seemingly endless expanse that is the West Forest. The small show of trust makes Oikawa’s stomach warm, makes his fingers relax as he slowly begins to shift his hands away. The rabbit continues to eat, content in its easy meal and relative safety.

Oikawa looks out into the depth of the forest and grins. The story unfolding is one he could never have planned— Iwaizumi will be almost as excited to learn of it as his sister once the rabbit leaves. He wonders what else lies in the nooks and crannies of the forest, where the birds have made their nests, where the toads lie.

A snap in the distance tells him he doesn’t have to wait long. The rabbit looks up at the same time as him, half eaten stem falling from its mouth as it hops past Oikawa’s shoes. Oikawa squints through the treeline where he heard the noise as the rabbit settles a few feet in front of him. Through the shadows and the leaves gleams two golden eyes as a snake, thick and old by the size of its body, slithers out from under a juniper bush. The rabbit sits up and smells the air, not looking behind where the snake begins to move closer, body coiling as its tongue darts out. Oikawa feels all of the warmth leave his body, feels the world slow as terror grips his chest, the snake’s jaw unhinging to reveal two inch fangs. It rears back and strikes, teeth poised for the neck of the rabbit, and in the instant before the fangs meet flesh, Oikawa’s entire body twitches, and a spark travels through him.

It’s enough to release a noise akin to thunder as Oikawa jerks back, hands as cold as ice as the flash of energy rips through him before dispersing through the trees. Everything is dark for a moment, a trace of the energy lingering still as Oikawa’s eyes struggle to adjust to the shift back to light. He raising his shaking, _shaking,_ hands to his eyes and rubs them, heart already pounding in his chest before he finally sees what lies in front of him.

Two limp animals— a snake so still it seems frozen, and a rabbit with its neck snapped back.

Oikawa doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears slip past his lips and onto his tongue, tasting of salt and of guilt and of terror. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until the echo of his voice, shrill and broken, hits him in full force. He inhales so deep his lungs rattle as the forest quiets once more, moving on from what had happened as if it were a distant memory. The silence rings in Oikawa’s brain until even the wind is no longer audible until he’s hugging his knees and fixated on what he’s done, on what kind of energy left him that he can’t understand.

His sister finds him like that, curled up by the the trunk of an old tree, tears staining his cheeks and teeth chattering. It’s a warm spring, but the air around Oikawa holds enough chill to make even his sister shiver as she kneels down beside him, pushing her hair to one side as she hugs Oikawa to her chest.

“Tooru,” she says softly, rubbing his back. Her eyes drift behind him to where the animals still lie, her shoulders instinctively becoming tense. “What happened?”

“I— I didn’t mean— I just wanted them to— it came out and _hurt_ and—” Oikawa swallows thickly, hiccups catching each breath as he tries to speak. His sister pulls away and brushes his hair from his eyes, placing both hands on his shoulders. All of her elder poise and grace comes together as she helps him to stand, staying crouched so that they can stay face to face still.

“It’ll be okay, Tooru,” she promises, squeezing his shoulder. She looks at the small pile of battered flowers and smiles, picking a few up. “Why don’t we give them a proper goodbye?”

Oikawa looks between the chocolate eyes of his sister and the flowers, nodding slowly as he wipes his nose on his sleeve. His body refuses to stop trembling as his sister kneels down in the dirt and clears out the layers of old leaves and needles. She digs her fingers into the fresh earth, pulling out roots as she lifts out enough soil to create a tiny grave. Oikawa watches her dust her hands off before gingerly picking up the snake and rabbit, lying them both down in the hole so that they press against one another.

“So that they won’t be lonely,” she says, offering Oikawa another smile. “Do you want to say something?”

Oikawa picks up one of the flowers, taking a step forwards to peer inside of the grave. He looks away from the animals, squeezing his eyes shut as shame worms its way through his heart once more, and drops the flower on top of the bodies.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice choked and barely audible even in the silence of the forest.

His sister nods. “They’ll find new homes in another life,” she tells him. “Shikisai, the god of death, will take good care of them now.”

With hands steady and dusted with dirt, Oikawa’s sister covers the grave with the displaced earth until it’s as level as the rest of the forest floor. She holds out her hands towards Oikawa, who tentatively passes her the rest of the flowers. He watches her lay them atop of the grave with a stomach twisting, her hands stilling for a moment before she finally rises to a full stand.

“There,” she tells him, hand resting on his back. “They’re safe now, and so are you.”

Oikawa looks at the grave and fights back against the churning in his gut. Something within him continues to tingle, forcing chills akin to those of a fever through his body and down his spine. His sister smiles and uses her sleeve to wipe the tears and snot from his nose, poking his cheek. He reaches out to grab her hand and walks back through the trees towards home, where comfort and safety awaits. But the chill doesn’t leave and not even the hearth of their fireplace can soothe it, so Oikawa chooses instead to stop crying and watch his father cook, watch his mother bake, watch his sister read while draped over the table. The peace of their family home has not changed, and yet Oikawa feels like there’s something missing from it all.

—

Iwaizumi notices that something is off before Oikawa even spots him. He jumps up onto their meeting rock and startles Oikawa enough that he lets out a yelp loud enough to scare off a nearby bird, scuttling to the side. Iwaizumi settles beside him, brow creasing as Oikawa flushes in embarrassment.

“Something happened,” he says, looking him up and down warily. “You didn’t show up yesterday.”

At that, Oikawa sighs, hugging his knees to his chest. Water collects in the divets of the rock from a rainfall the night before, making a perfect distraction for him to dip his fingertips into as he looks away from Iwaizumi’s piercing gaze. “I went to a funeral.”

Iwaizumi instantly straightens, shoulders falling. “A funeral? Who died?”

Oikawa swallows thickly, eyes still fixed at his hands. “A rabbit and a snake.” His voice is quiet then, but even quieter when he speaks once more. “I… I killed them.” He shakes his head and looks up, energy surging as guilt bites his tongue and his eyes begin to water. “But it was an accident! I didn’t mean to!”

Iwaizumi crawls close enough to press their shoulders together. “What happened?”

Oikawa furiously attempts to wipe his tears away with his sleeve. “I don’t know! I just— all I wanted was to keep the rabbit safe from the snake, but as soon as I went to move this— this _bang_ of energy made everything go dark and then they— they— they…” he trails off, anger fizzling away as a teardrop falls onto his palm.

A gust of wind rustles the still wet leaves above, sending little droplets of leftover rainwater onto their heads. Oikawa looks to Iwaizumi, shame creeping up his spine, and watches as the water rolls off of his scales. His lips turn down, brows furrowed in a way Oikawa can only fear is disappointment. Before an apology can rise to his lips, Iwaizumi tilts his head, face softening.

“Maybe you used magic unknowingly. It’d explain why you couldn’t control it.”

Oikawa sniffs. “Magic? Is that was that was?”

Iwaizumi nods, eyes bright and trained on Oikawa. “Probably.”

“Well then, I don’t think I like magic very much,” Oikawa murmurs. “I thought it was meant to help people. Like the White Mage did.”

“But it does,” Iwaizumi tells him, offering a small, toothy smile. “I’m magical. The White Mage was magical too. You just didn’t know how to control it, kinda like a fire.”

Oikawa pauses in thought, pursing his lips. The memory of white fur masked by dirt dampens any excitement at his newfound magical ability, tears rising up again before he can shake them away. He bites his lip. “D’you think… I could learn how to control it? I don’t want to hurt anything ever again.”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi tells him, seriousness written over his face as he leans forwards. “You could even be like the White Mage.”

At that, Oikawa brightens up. “You think?” he asks, sniffling slightly.

“Mhm, I think you’d make a great mage,” Iwaizumi tells him, eyes narrowing as he grins. “Maybe then you’d be able to beat me at tree climbing.”

“Hey!” Oikawa shouts, shoving Iwaizumi’s arm. Iwaizumi barely moves, nudging Oikawa back. He overshoots his strength, per usual, nearly knocking him off the rock and into the bushes. The two break into giggles after Oikawa catches himself, the two roughhousing for a few minutes despite their obvious difference in strength. When they finally stop, it’s to laugh lightly, Oikawa falling flat on his back to look up at the branches obscuring the sky.

“So… magic, huh?” he says, turning his head to see Iwaizumi lie down beside him. “How am I supposed to learn?”

Iwaizumi looks around, shrugging. “You can practice with me. With my scales, it isn’t like you’ll hurt me.”

Oikawa’s eyes close shut as his smile stretches wide across his cheeks, little crescent moons that press out the last of his tears. He rolls over to flop onto Iwaizumi, hugging him close to his chest.

“Thank you, Hajime,” he says, feeling Iwaizumi relax into the impromptu hug. He pulls away and sits up, folding his hands in his lap. “Can we start practicing now?”

Iwaizumi’s teeth flash white as he smiles, nodding before backing up. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

The shame and loathing becomes masked by nothing more than curiosity and excitement. A chill rushing through his blood and all the way to the tips of his fingers, and Oikawa feels a spark under his skin catch a growing wealth within his chest. He holds out his hands, closes his eyes, and focuses. And before his and Iwaizumi’s very eyes, the magic flows through.

—

It doesn’t come all at once, but instead comes with an ease Oikawa could have never expected. He envisions fire and snaps his fingers to form a spark, which grows into a flame he can hold in his palms. It flickers purple some days and black on others, dances wildly across his skin and grows whenever he commands it. It’s a fascination to both him and Iwaizumi, who spend hours simply watching the flame flicker and grow, Oikawa shaping it to create images of themselves in the fire. He begins to shift rocks and move earth, conjure streams of water to spray at Iwaizumi when the warmth of the day gets to them. Little by little, his power grows, until he can place his palms against an old stump and watch the bark change into dark stone.

Lightning, beams of light, shimmering shields, and balls of energy harnessed in his hands— they all radiate a deep, purple glow and chill the spring air in a way Oikawa begins to ignore. The rush that comes alongside magic is one unlike any other sensation. It burns and it tingles and it makes every nerve in Oikawa’s body feel _alive,_ makes his body feel larger than it really is until he’s laughing and dropping the spell, in awe of his own creation.

For the first couple of weeks, he only practices in the shelter of the forest, with Iwaizumi beside him, watching wide eyed and entranced. They play games of seeing how large the ball of flame can grow, how high he can propel himself with a gust of wind, how long he can force the forest into darkness. Iwaizumi’s fascination with his magic almost rivals his own, and at the end of the day, the pair are always left with more questions than answers— what are the limits of this newfound power? How far can he go?

After a particularly exciting day in the woods, one where Oikawa managed to make his flame float in midair, he decides it time to show his powers to his family. As he walks home, pushing branches out of his face and giggling as the leaves brush against his cheeks, he imagines their reactions. His mother will cry and ruffle his hair, asking him to show her the tricks over and over. His father is a harder read— he’ll tell Oikawa how proud he is after the shock wears off and he’s no longer frozen. His sister will simply grin and put her hands on her hips, like she always does, and tell him to work a little harder and see where he goes. They’ll all hug and he’ll be the talk of the town, and maybe, if he’s lucky, his father with bake a pie in celebration.

Joy warms him to the tips of his toes, thrumming happily alongside the buzz Oikawa has gotten to know as magic. He stretches his arms high over his head as he enters the village once more, breaking into a run as he races his way through the streets and back home. Spring has brought new life into the town in the form of blooming flowers and budding trees, the first green brightest against the deep hues of year-round pine needles. Oikawa ducks around a corner and slows as he approaches the steps to his home, hopping on one foot to yank off his shoes as he crosses into the entryway.

“Mama!” he shouts, bounding down the hall and into the sitting area. His mother looks up from a book, dog earring a page before setting it down on a nearby table and rising to a stand.

“Well, what has you home in a hurry?” she asks. Her eyes crinkle with the beginnings of crows feet, shining golden and gentle onto Oikawa in a way that relaxes him enough to string his words together.

“I got something to show you,” he says seriously, schooling his smile into an air of poise. “It’s super important.”

His mother raises his brows, surprise twinkling across her face. “Is it now?” she asks. “Well then, what is it?”

Oikawa’s smile breaks free as he scurries back a few feet. “Close your eyes,” he tells her, waiting until his mothers eyes are shut to take a deep breath and look down at his hands. He quickly stop to look back up once more, squinting. “No peeking!”

His mother laughs, one hand resting on her cheek. “Of course, Tooru. I promise.”

Oikawa stills himself, rolling his shoulders back and allowing himself to fall into the familiar trance of awakening the power within him. He’s used to the chill that runs through him by now, grinning as a deep purple flame lights from within his palms, growing larger than his hands. It flickers gently, casting strange shadows across the room in the few moments of stillness before Oikawa speaks.

“You can look now,” he says, looking away from the flame to stare at his mother’s face. She slowly cracks open her eyes, her gaze flickering across the room before falling on Oikawa, or more accurately, the purple glow in his hands. Her eyes go wide, mouth falling open in a look of sheer shock Oikawa wasn’t expecting. He holds the fire up higher, still smiling and waiting for the showering of praise. “Isn’t it the greatest? I can do all _sorts_ of magic now!”

As he speaks, the flame ebbs, sparking abruptly in a way that makes his mother flinch. Oikawa lowers the flame in concern as a smile slowly forms on her face, not yet reaching her eyes. She kneels so that she matches his height, reaching out overtop of the flame to touch his cheek. Excitement turns into confusion as his mother blinks rapidly, brushing hair behind his ear.

“Tooru,” she says, and her voice is firm and distant as she meets his eyes. “You need to promise me you won’t use this magic, okay?”

Oikawa’s face falls, confusion souring into frustration. The flame flickers to black before dying out, hands balling into tiny fists that still steam. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice breaking as tears threaten to rise.

His mother sighs heavily, gnawing on her lip. “It’s… it’s too dangerous, Tooru.”

Oikawa pulls away from her hold, lip quivering and stomach twisting. He shakes away the memories of the rabbit and the snake, choosing instead to blink away his tears. “But the White Mage used magic, and they helped people. And mama, I’m gonna be just like that— don’t you see?”

“I— Tooru, it isn’t that easy,” she pleads, hurt flashing across her face as her brows press together. She swallows, reaching out to grab his hands and wrap them in her palms, holding them closer to her. “Someday, I promise, you can use that power. But not now, honey. You gotta promise mama you won’t use it now.”

Oikawa looks down at his shoes, the stirring sensation in his gut enough to bring guilt to the forefront of his mind once more. Slowly, he looks up to their joined hands, to his mother’s eyes. Only one thing shines through her eyes: Fear. He watches with confusion still lingering in the back of his mind and huffs, the breath of air pushing his bangs from his face.

“I won't use magic anymore,” Oikawa lies. “I promise.”

His mother’s shoulders drop as a heavy breath filters through her lips, eyes closing as her body relaxes. Wordlessly, she tugs Oikawa close to her chest, holding him in a hug so tight Oikawa hears her heartbeat thumping against her ribs. He closes his eyes and ignores both the parts of him that wither in guilt and that shine in glee, choosing only to spend this moment close with his mother, promising every god that he’ll make her proud in the end.

—

Oikawa lies in the confines of his room late that night, watching the stars twinkle overhead. Clouds float by in a thin haze, gently obscuring the crescent moon’s glow and leaving the forest to blend into obscurity. Vines of ivy have begun to creep up onto his window sill, tiny leaves visible as the wind pushes them back and forth, a soft whisper of a gentle spring night. Yet, with the lullaby of the forest so willing to sing to him, Oikawa resists sleep, his mind plagued with things he’s yet to understand.

Magic— a power harnessed by few and gifted to even fewer, something so elusive and mystical it can only be summed up by what it does rather than what it is. Oikawa has been read storybooks and nursery rhymes praising the wonder of magic, has heard cradle songs and prayer hymns detailing the gifts the White Mage has given to the world. He has played sorcerer and king with Iwaizumi more times than he can count, has roped his sister into pulling out her academic scrolls to tell him what the kingdom’s largest cities have to say about magic. Oikawa has _dreamt_ about this power, has wished on every far away star for a chance to taste what he now knows. It’s a dream his parents have fostered alongside him since he first learned of people who could protect themselves from the worst of forces, who could make walls of fire and ice grow from the ground, who could twist the world around them to their every desire and make a new life for those they love.

His chest still seizes with shame at his mother’s broken plea to abandon what he’s yearned for. As he gazes out at the night sky and the clouds shielding the moon, he can only think of her eyes, torn and terrified of something Oikawa only knows to be amazing.

Slowly, Oikawa sits up, moving to the foot of his bed. He rests his chin on the window sill and closes his eyes in the wind, allowing it to wash over his face and blow strands of his hair into his eyes. It smells like the moment before rainfall and the beginnings of dew, like the thick musk of rotting leaves and the sharp bite of fresh pine. When he opens his eyes, it's to come face to face with the ivy. It has twisted its way close enough to his nose that he has to cross his eyes to look properly at it, tiny spearheaded leaves sharp around the edges. Oikawa slides his fingertips down the stem, plucking it from the rest of the vine to hold up to the night sky. Without even thinking, magic begins to swirls under his skin, and the vine begins to wilt away. It shrivels in on itself before turning to ash that pools in Oikawa’s palm, black and as fine as powder. He tilts his head and concentrates, guiding the wind in the most careful of motions to shape the ashes into a cube, a diamond, a sphere, before simply allowing one last gust to blow them all away.

He doesn’t feel tired. If anything, his body thrums with a kind of energy unparalleled by anything he’s experienced before. If anything, he has never felt more awake. But something in his mind begs for rest, the part that’s still trying to untangle the web spun by circumstance and situation. Oikawa pushes the sill away and falls back onto his bed, pulling his covers up to his chin. He shuts his eyes and imagines that the stars are turning to ash, and that their brilliant white powder drifts down from the heavens and rains onto him. Maybe then his mother would see magic the way that he does.

—

Summer arrives with long days filled with sunshine and warmth that breaks through the cool shade of the trees. Iwaizumi and Oikawa take breaks from magic to pick wild berries and eat them, Iwaizumi instructing Oikawa on which are likely to be poisonous. His scales are a brilliant shade of green, and their meeting point rock makes an excellent place for him to sunbathe, limbs stretched out as Oikawa tosses blackberries into his open mouth.

When it comes time to return to the village, Oikawa does so with sticky fingers and the tart aftertaste of fruit still lingering on his tongue. As he sucks the juice off of his fingers, he realizes the village has become fuller in the time he’s left. The same faces he knows and loves bustle by, but amongst them are men and women dressed in long white cloaks, some sporting pearlescent armor and weapons on their backs. Oikawa slows to a stop to watch one woman walk past, her choppy black hair tied away from her face. She laughs to another girl beside her, a thick scar on her cheek creasing as she smiles and speaks. Shaking himself from his daze, Oikawa dashes further through the village, following the sound of hooves, horses, and clattering metal. People dressed in similar garb wave towards him as he weaves through their legs, some jumping back when they notice his presence and others yelling after him in confusion. The crowds grow more and more dense as he continues along, until finally he collides into the thigh of none other but his sister.

“Yuuko?” Oikawa says, looking up at his sibling. Her excitement is palpable solely in her posture— she leans forwards, arms held close to her chest and shoulders drawn tight. “What’s happening?”

She grins, ducking down to scoop Oikawa up and place him on her shoulders. “See for yourself,” she tells him as he gets settled, line of sight unobstructed by bodies.

Now well above the heads of his fellow villagers, Oikawa gets a clear view of five larger caravans and lined up next to the schoolhouse. Each is decorated with light blue canvas and the country’s royal seal— two snakes wrapped around a shield. A group of horses idles next to the caravans, some with riders and others with their bridles being removed. But at the centre of the ruckus is _people—_ people with white cloaks thrown over their shoulders, people with shining armor, people with scarred faces and swords, bows, and arrows strapped to their backs. They hoist things from the caravans and pitch tents in the clearing, following the commands shouted out to them by a woman who sits tall on the back of a black stallion. Her words carry over the crowd, strong and loud. Her black hair is cropped close to her head, her cloak whipping out behind her in the wind. As the others begin to make camp, she rides her horse closer to the crowd of villagers. Oikawa yelps as his sister pushes closer to the front of the crowd as the woman clears her throat to speak.

“Greetings!” she calls out, a smile taking over her stoic face. “I am Nakamura Kasumi, the captain of the 14th regiment of Seishun’s Royal Army, here today to make camp on our way to Fukuroushi in the north. We hope not to disrupt your daily lives, and will leave at sunrise by next morning.”

Oikawa’s mouth falls open at awe as she looks over towards him and his sister. Villagers have already begun to disperse, scrambling to provide the regiment with provisions and gifts. Yuuko waves to Kasumi as she begins to unmount her horse, jostling Oikawa enough that he wiggles to be put down. Kasumi rubs the neck of her horse once before walking towards them, their grins reflected in the deep brown of her eyes.

“And who might you two be?” she asks. The sound of armor clinking against her gauntlets rings out as her hands move to rest on her hips. Yuuko is quite tall, taller than her and Oikawa’s mother by far, but this woman has a few inches on her still, meeting her eyes with a strong gaze. Up close, Oikawa can see how a light scar travels across the bridge of her nose, stark against her dark skin. Despite the roughness of her appearance, she carries grace in the set of her shoulders, something that intrinsically draws both him and Yuuko in.

“Oikawa Yuuko and Tooru,” she says, holding her ground. Oikawa can feel how his sisters hands tremble out of excitement, can see how bright her eyes shine as she looks up to the woman. “Where have you come from?”

“We were stationed east, towards the desert, but were called in to help protect the district up north. More people have moved to Fukuroushi, if you can believe it. It must be since they’ve found a new mineral vein, because it certainly isn’t the weather,” she explains.

“Have you been there?” Oikawa asks, reaching out to tap the woman’s thigh armor. “Is it really really cold? Are there polar bears?”

Kasumi nods sagely. “Many creatures make the north their home. I grew up there, so it’ll be quite nice to return home.” She pauses, looking between the two as her smile grows. “Say, Yuuko, how old are you?”

“Sixteen, why?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

Kasumi’s grin widens further. “I travel with my family, since my wife is also a member of the regiment. I have a son your age with me— perhaps you’d get along. Gods know he’s dying to talk to someone his age.”

“I’m seven,” Oikawa adds, puffing out his cheeks.

His sister ignores him, her eyes brightening. “Sure! Why not?” She looks down and shoots Oikawa a serious look, one that says _best behaviour_ as clear as day.

Kasumi leads them through the throngs of soldiers in various stages of setting up camp. Many bow or nod to her as she passes, others choosing instead to bump shoulders and laugh as she goes by. Yuuko holds Oikawa’s hand tightly as Kasumi ducks her inside of one caravans, sighing as she leaves.

“He shouldn’t be far from here,” she says, shaking her head. “Akihiro!”

Oikawa wiggles his hand free from his sister, moving to stand closer to one of the horses tied to the caravan. It doesn’t seem to mind as he rubs its leg— as high as he can reach on it— as he watches his sister spin in a circle, looking around the clearing made camp.

Suddenly, as she moves to turn back to Kasumi, someone runs right into her. She stumbles as they plant their hands on her, already apologizing even as Kasumi laughs.

“Looks like he already found you,” she says. “Akihiro, meet Oikawa Yuuko and her little brother.”

Akihiro smiles sheepishly, wiping his hands onto his pants. He’s the same height as Yuuko, with wavy black hair that falls onto his forehead and eyes a gentle shade of blue. Though he shares his mother’s stature, he carries a much more timid aura, bowing as Yuuko appraises him with a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he tells her, before turning to look over towards Oikawa. “And you as well.” Oikawa watches as his sisters eyes widen, mouth falling open ever so slightly as her attention fixates completely on Akihiro. He wrinkles his nose at the sight of his sister so utterly _lovestruck._

“I’ve got business to attend to, but maybe you can show him around the village,” Kasumi says, eyes twinkling. “You have fun, and be back at our tent by dusk lest your mama starts worrying.”

He nods before yelping, Yuuko already gripping his wrist and dragging him off.  Oikawa runs forwards to trail behind the two as they make their way back into the village, Yuuko finally dropping Akihiro’s hand.

“So, are you in the army too?” she asks, head tilted as she bats her eyelashes. Oikawa squints.

Akihiro coughs, his cheeks dusted with a faint blush. “Well, not really. They don’t accept anyone under the age of eighteen, and even then, it’s difficult to graduate into their ranks. But I’ve been training as an archer for a while now. W-what about you?”

Yuuko smiles, biting her lip. “Well, there’s not much that happens here. I’ve always dreamed about studying star patterns though.”

Akihiro’s eyes light up. “Really? They have a big library in Fukuroushi where they study that kind of thing. Whenever we go home, I usually hang out there.”

“I’ve read about that!” Yuuko exclaims. “I’d _die_ to work under a scholar there.”

Akihiro scratches his cheek. “M-maybe… if you ever visit, I could show you around?” he offers. Yuuko nods enthusiastically, positively beaming at the boy.

Oikawa fake gags at how their hands brush together, the two jumping apart as their cheeks become flushed. His sister seems to have entirely forgot about him at this point, too busy staring into Akihiro’s eyes and blushing every time he so much as breathes. Oikawa slows to a stop and lets them wander off before making his way back home.

That night, he climbs onto the roof to watch how the village brightens at dusk, the soldiers greeted with the best everyone manages to offer. Lanterns light what the moon can’t, and the warm summer air coats them all in warmth that lasts even as the night cools. Oikawa brightens his own space with a small ball of light that glows purple, ebbing slowly in his palms as he watches the soldiers and the villagers celebrate a change of pace. He dissipates the magic quickly, remembering his broken promise to his mother. His heart grows heavy with disappointment as he makes his way back inside, curling up with his parents in the kitchen.

It’s late when his sister finally arrives home, the festivities having already winded down as everyone found their much needed rest. The smile that’s plastered on her face can only be described as dopey, and the way she waltzes around the kitchen to kiss their parents on the cheek before heading off to bed ditzy. She hums a tune and spins, Oikawa fighting back a yawn and sticking out his tongue.

“Yuuko’s gotten all gross over some _boy,”_ he says to his mother, curling into her side. It’s well past his bedtime, and the lack of sleep has pushed his confusion into grumpiness that his mother can only laugh at.

“Oh, Tooru,” she says, smoothing his hair with her hand. “You’ll understand one day.”

“I don’t even _wanna_ understand,” he huffs, slipping off the couch as he sulks.

His father chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, it’s time for bed now. Come on, I’ll tuck you in.”

Oikawa doesn’t even protest, allowing himself to be hoisted up into his father’s arms and set back down in his bed in the blink of an eye. Lips find his forehead and blankets tuck under his chin, the comfort of his family soothing away the bustle and novelty of the day. Sleep find him easy, and by the time he wakes the next day, the Royal Army will have already left. His sister will be teary eyed and distant, and he’ll continue to be confused, but for now, the moment fades with saccharine edges that he’ll always remember as wondrous.

—

Oikawa turns eight on a bright, sunny morning. He wakes to the sky blue without a cloud in the sky, sun stretching through his windowsill and rousing him to wakefulness. By time he comes to, his heart has already begun to pound with excitement inside of his chest. He changes into his clothing as quickly as he can, buttoning up his shirt at the same time that he stumbles out of his room.

His parents are already awake, sipping coffee at the kitchen table, which houses a box in a soft blue cloth. Before he can begin to run towards his present, hands wrap around his stomach from behind, Yuuko lifting him high into the air, not minding how he yelps.

“Happy birthday!” she exclaims, spinning him around in a circle. Oikawa laughs as he’s set down, vibrating as she grins. “Oh wow, you’ve gotten heavier overnight!”

“I’m gonna be taller than you, you know,” Oikawa boasts, jumping up and down as she shakes her head.

“Nah, you’ll always be my _little_ brother,” she says, ruffling his hair.

“Come on, Tooru. You’ve got your present to open now,” his father calls, motioning to the box.

Oikawa’s eyes light up as he pushes away his sister’s hand, skidding across the floor to reach the table, arms outstretched to catch himself before he crashes. His mother worries as he sits himself down, already reaching forward to pull away the twine. The soft blue terry cloth falls away to reveal a simple wooden box with two brass latches, the cherry stained wood engraved with cross hatching lines on its lid. Oikawa runs his fingertips over the grooves as he pulls the latches and opens it, pursing his lips when he’s met with a large piece of folded parchment covering its contents. He picks it up, smoothing out the creases as he opens it to reveal a detailed charcoal drawing of a ship, its fan-like sails unfurled and catching wind. With a curious glance, Oikawa sets down the drawing and looks into the contents of the box— various pieces of wood and cloth.

“It’s a model boat. That page has all the instructions you’ll need to put it together,” his father explains, setting his mug down. “We can work on it this afternoon, after the picnic.”

“Picnic?” Oikawa asks, face lighting up.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” his mother sighs, exasperated.

Oikawa plants his palms on the table, leaning forwards. “Is there gonna be a cake?”

“You’ll see,” she sings, her smile tight lipped as she pushes the table away to stand. “Yuuko, go fetch the basket from the cellar. We’ll head out as soon as your brother is ready.”

“I’m ready!” he shouts, smile plastered across his face.

“Well then, we oughta catch up!”

With a laugh, Oikawa delves into the box, pouring over the instructions as his family prepares the things for their picnic. Many of the pieces are small, bendy components with tiny grooves to be slotted together, almost as if the entire boat was a puzzle. It strikes him as the kind of thing Iwaizumi would enjoy, fueling him to begin planning how best to transport all of the parts into the forest without losing anything.

Soon, the family of four makes their way out of the house, Oikawa leading the way. They stop by the baker, who greets Oikawa with a round faced smile, passing his mother a loaf of milk bread Oikawa will later gorge himself on. All throughout their walk towards their picnic spot, people wave and pass on their congratulations. Oikawa preens at their praise, puffing out his chest as he skips in wide circles around his mother and father as they set up the blanket. He can see how the shopkeepers look out their windows towards him, watching with fondness as his sister chases him down where the rest of their family sits.

It’s a wonderful day, all things considered. He shares a few bites of his milk bread and treats himself to the rest of the goodies his mother made without a pinch of shame, giggling when she wipes the crumbs from his cheeks. The giddy sensation of warmth bubbles through his limbs, his smile so wide it hurts. His sister spends the morning running after him, playing tag and teaching him how to cartwheel without falling face first in the dirt. When the afternoon breaks with the heat of the summer, she lets him nap beside her, at the expense of braiding small sections of his hair. Still, when they finally make their way back home, his hair curled in strange ways and stomach full enough _just_ enough to hurt, he’s happy beyond the day’s exhaustion.

Before the night ends, Yuuko pulls him into her room where a book sits on her nightstand, tied neatly with a bright blue ribbon. Oikawa looks up at her with expectant eyes, waiting for her to nod before dashing forwards. He pulls the end of the ribbon and wraps it around his wrist, admiring the shimmering blue velvet cover and its golden lettering. He chews the inside of his cheek, slowly sounding out the title as his sister sits down next to him.

 _“The Magic of the Stars,”_ he reads, chest fluttering as he whips around to face her. “A magic book?”

Yuuko nods, opening the book to a random page. “It shows all of the star charts and different kinds of magicks that relate to them.” She traces her finger over some of the lettering, Oikawa leaning over to read along with her. _“Moonlight has always had a positive effect on certain kinds of magic. Psychic, divination, and protective spells all have advantages._ See? It talks all about the kind of stuff you like. I figured since mom and dad didn’t get you any magical things this year, I would.”

Oikawa’s eyes sparkle as he looks up at Yuuko, at how she smiles with pride and a small grin. Overwhelmed with joy, he pushes forwards to wrap his arms around her waist. She lets out a small chuckle, tugging him closer as the book falls shut in her lap.

“Thank you, thank you _so much—_ ”

“It’s your birthday, goof. No need to thank me.”

Oikawa hugs her tighter, face digging into the soft material of her cotton overalls. “Just… thank you.”

Yuuko hums, running her fingers through his hair. The gratitude that rushes through his chest isn’t enough to soothe him to sleep, even as his energy leaves him. When he’s tucked into bed that night, he pulls the star book from under his pillow and creates a small light to illuminate the pages. When he finally falls asleep, it’s with the book tucked under his cheek, pages bent and mind filled with images of stars and anticipation for the days ahead.

—

The heat of midsummer in the depths of the West Forest is dry, even with the intermittent rainfall. When the sun reaches its peak high in the sky, no amount of shade can shield a person from the heat that seeps through the thickets of trees. Oikawa and Iwaizumi find themselves sitting next to a small stream, barely four feet wide and trickling over moss covered stones. It creates a soft babbling noise as the two stand barefoot in the water. It barely comes halfway up their shins, but the water is chilled enough to raise the hair on their legs and cool the sweat on their skin.

As they splash in the stream, Oikawa crystallizes water into tiny shards of ice that become tainted with the purple glow of his magical aura. Each sliver shines as if it were a gemstone, catching Iwaizumi’s attention as he follows their movements. Over the weeks spent practicing magic together, he has brought numerous crystals for Oikawa to transform other rocks into. He’s nowhere near perfect yet, but with each attempt the rocks gleam more and more, Iwaizumi’s smile growing wider and wider with pride. Today, his eyes widen at the sight of Oikawa using precise gusts of wind to raise each shard high above their heads to create an umbrella. Sunlight shines down through the leaves of the trees only to be reflected through each tiny prism, sparking in brilliant shades of lavender across stream, the water’s shimmer seconded to how Iwaizumi’s scales create a kaleidoscope effect with all of the different light sources around them. Each shard of ice spins slowly as Oikawa begins to move them once more, making little patterns and bigger pictures before pushing them back together. He can feel the strain on his neck from looking up for so long, but continues to anyways, even when Iwaizumi splashes his shirt with a handful of water.

Oikawa grins, balling all of the shards together. He backs up a few steps, mindful of the rocks beneath his feet, and lowers the amalgamated crystal towards his chest. Each individual shard of ice still spins in its own right, creating and effect where the surface of the ball seems to dance, splitting light and casting it beyond the trees. Oikawa looks up to gauge Iwaizumi’s reaction, finding his own pride in the wide, rapt attention he gives to his magic, how he hardly blinks as if in a trance. And the second that he leans in to get closer, Oikawa lets the magic surge through him and _out,_ sending every shard of ice in a different direction before allowing them to fall like snow come winter.

Or, that is how the magic would end, if he hadn’t noticed how the shards whizzed past Iwaizumi far too close for comfort— close enough, in fact, to slice through the scales of his left cheek and shoulder. Dragon scales part to reveal trickles of deep crimson blood, so stark against the glimmering green. All of the shards of ice fall to the ground as Oikawa rushes forwards, insides clenched as Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose and winces, wiping the blood from his cheek. When his hand pulls away, the cut has already healed, but the ache of guilt in Oikawa’s body has yet to subside as Iwaizumi splashes water on his shoulder, eyes meeting Oikawa’s with uncertainty.

“Hajime, I didn’t mean—”

“The cut didn’t hurt me,” Iwaizumi says. “But the magic… stung.”

Oikawa bites his lip, cheeks heating with embarrassment as tears prick in his eyes. “I shouldn’t— I shouldn't have done—”

“It’s an accident,” Iwaizumi tells him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. His hand is cool and wet, water soaking through Oikawa’s shirt. The finality of his tone reminds Oikawa of his sister, his parents, as if his words alone carry experience and years that somehow slow Oikawa’s breathing. Even so, his shoulders remain knotted tight, tension holding him on edge even as they step out of the water to sit in the grass, flowers stuck to their skin and Oikawa’s cheeks stained with salt.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa murmurs once more, curling his toes in the earth. He looks down to his palms, at the creases and lines that run across them, and presses them into his pants. “I don’t want my magic to be a thing that hurts people. I don’t want it to be dangerous like mama said it’d be.”

“Sometimes the unknown scares people,” Iwaizumi says. “But magic is powerful. You’re only just learning it, so mistakes are okay.”

Oikawa looks up, sniffling. “You think?”

Iwaizumi nods, his brows furrowed. “That’s why I offered to help you. Did you forget that?”

“Of course not!” Oikawa exclaims, laughter catching on leftover tears still working their way through his body. Iwaizumi cracks a smile and stands, offering a hand up after Oikawa ties his shoes back on. “Maybe we should just climb trees instead.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head, pupils narrowing to slits as he grins to bare his teeth. “I’ll race you back to the rock,” he challenges him.

Oikawa starts running as an answer, running from the stream and the dragonblood and the shards of ice coated in magic. He pushes back guilt because Iwaizumi still smiles, catching up to him in mere moments and surpassing him with ease. They bound between trees and Oikawa blames the way his gut twists on hunger and exertion, pushes himself to go faster, runs like the ground is falling beneath his feet and smiles wider than the horizon line. Iwaizumi is already waiting when he arrives, and everything, for that moment, is as right as rain, because neither notice how the grass has begun to shrivel at the banks of the stream.

—

Some nights, Oikawa dreams of the rabbit and snake. These dreams chill his spine and send insects crawling across his skin as he writhes, watching the moment of their death play and rewind, play and rewind. These dreams begin like any other, out of nowhere, and end just as quick, with Oikawa bolting upright, heart pounding, struggling to push the images of stillness to the furthest corners of his mind. It adds to the guilt that festers in his stomach, lays on top of all of the lies Oikawa keeps as he continues to practice magic. His fear that his mother’s fears will be realized simmers every time he is alone, when the magic begins to creep. If he’s quiet, Oikawa can faintly hear the way it rushes through each bone and limb, buzzing and trickling and _hungry._

Because despite his mother’s wishes and his own shame at injuring Iwaizumi, Oikawa _craves_ magic. He craves the rush of power throughout his body as he releases a ball of light or mimics an animal, desires the warmth burning from within when he sparks a flame. Magic bubbles at every moonbeam, jumps at every gust of wind, surges from him without his control. Oikawa finds himself itching to try and bring down bolts of lighting from the sky, to pull together the clouds and halt rain entirely. He wants to try the impossible twice, wants to do it with flames burning black in his hands and a smile wide across his face.

And that brings him here, sitting in bed as dusk fades into night proper, light fleeting and air cooling as the midsummer sun vanishes. Oikawa pushes all his might into one more flame, watching it dance a line up his arm and down each fingertip, lighting each nail like a candle wick. It dances without wind to the tune of his breath, and as Oikawa narrows his eyes, each flame moves towards the inside of his palms. There, he collects the flame, watching it in all of its deep violet glory before pushing it to swirl into the air. It spins counter clockwise, a typhoon, a tornado, burning and darkening to a true inky black as it grows in size. Oikawa can only be enamoured, pushing more of his power into it as he chases the feeling of the world’s weight leaving his shoulders. He grins and watches it grow, and grow, and grow, not noticing how sporadic the sparks become as he pushes his magic further. They flutter and dance down from above with each swirl, fire lashes out further and further until it swells to almost the size of his room, barely missing his bed frame and bookshelf.

But the sparks don't miss. One falls, and then another, and another, all piling onto the rug that lies on the wooden floor of his room. In seconds, the carpet catches, the black fire now spreading across Oikawa’s floor. With a shout, he jumps off of his bed, reaching for a glass of water only to knock it to the floor. It shatters, and Oikawa forgets about the vortex of flame he so expertly created— instead, his fear channels into the flame eating away at the rug, smoke rising as it burns at the floor.

Tears begin to fall as the fire grows taller, not yet burning anything but the rug. It’s only when heavy footsteps pound from outside of his room that he looks to the door in time to watch his mother burst through, eyes wide with horror as she reaches forwards to grab Oikawa’s shoulders.

“Tooru, Tooru honey, I need you to calm down, okay?” she says, voice frantic, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Oikawa stammers, breaking away from her eyes to look back at the flame. “I didn't mean—“

“Honey, I’m not mad, but you need to calm down so that the fire stops, okay?” his mother tells him. She breathes deep, closing her eyes and sighing heavy, her breath a cloud visible in the air. “It’s gonna all be fine, but you need to be calm okay?”

Oikawa’s shoulders drop as he watches his mother breathe, her eyes filled with concern and love, her gaze nowhere but him. In an instant, the fire vanishes, and Oikawa collapses onto his mother, sobbing apologies into the soft wool of her sweater.

“P-please don't hate me,” Oikawa cries, holding his mother as tight as he can. He can feel her shaking, can feel how her skin burns despite the way she shivers. “I just— I didn’t—“

“Tooru, I will never hate you,” his mother murmurs, pulling him away. “How about we— we talk about this in the morning? And maybe I can get you an extra blanket— there’s a chill in this room.”

Oikawa nods slowly, following his mother to bed. She lifts him up onto his bed and tucks the covers around him, kissing his forehead before rolling up the smoldering remains of the rug. There’s scorch marks on the floor and blackened char that needs dusting, but the smoke filters out of the window and Oikawa’s tears dry as his mother squeezes his hand one last time. It’s just as she leaves the room that he watches his father and sister press forwards, the door slamming shut with the telltale _click_ of a lock before either can come in. Oikawa rushes forwards, pressing his ear to the crack in the door just as voices begin to sound.

“Yuuko, go to your room,” his mother says, voice quiet but firm in the calm kind of scary rarely heard.

“But he’s my _brother!_ You can’t just—”

“Yuuko!” A pause follows before his mother speaks again, quietly. “Please.”

There’s terse silence where nothing is spoken before heavy footfalls parade past, the walls shaking as Yuuko slams the door to her room. Oikawa hears a muffled sigh and pictures his mother closing her eyes and leaning forwards.

“What the hell happened?” his father asks, voice low. “Because all I saw was black flame and then… _nothing._ Like… like the desert heat washed over us only to be squashed by the dead of winter, and— gods, Haruko, you’re _shivering—”_

“I— I meant to tell you, dear, I _did,_ but—”

“You meant to tell me _what?”_ Oikawa’s father’s voice bites through the air with sheer confusion laced in anger and hurt. No one speaks and Oikawa controls his cries to mere whimpers, tears falling steady as his heart pounds.

“Tooru… he’s got magic, but it’s not… its not _right,_ it’s _wrong_ and it’s cold and dark, and dear I don’t— I think it’s—”

“Don’t,” his father says, broken as if spoken through a hoarse throat. “Don’t say what you’re about to say.”

“But I’ve _seen—”_

“You saw nothing!” his father shouts, Oikawa flinching against the door before his mother shushes him. “You— you—”

“It wasn’t three months ago that he— he showed me a flame the size of a _candle_ in his hands, and now he’s making vortexes and— and— and it’s _reacting_ to him!”

“We don't know—“

“No, _you_ don’t know!” his mother snaps. “Haven’t you noticed how he's always cold even when it's the hottest summer this year? Haven’t you noticed him gone the whole day, never around— _and don’t you_ dare _say that’s normal,_ because I only see my son at sunrise and sunset and I— I look at him and think— haven't you noticed _anything?”_

“I didn’t notice because you didn’t tell me! Did you ever stop to think, _wow, maybe I should tell my husband that our son might be the Dar—”_

“How am I supposed to _say_ that?! How—” his mother falls silent, Oikawa’s hiccuping breaths the only sound as she begins to whisper. “I can’t— he can’t know. Tooru can’t know. No one can know. I don’t know what’ll happen if someone finds out. I don’t _want_ to know.”

“Yuuko—”

“She’s too smart for her own good, but she’d die before she let her brother be hurt and _gods be damned_ I won’t let that happen.”

“That… that won’t—”

“Don't make promises you can't keep, dear. Just… let’s sleep. I can’t talk about this anymore.”

Oikawa slides down the door, breath shaking as his parents’ footsteps leave the hall. The night is silent now, his body past the point of tears as his cheeks become dried with salt. Oikawa crawls to his bed and wishes his mother would carry him again, wishes he never left, wishes he never heard the shouting. His hands are still glowing ever so slightly, illuminating his blankets as he dusts charcoal from his palms and yanks the blankets to his chin, body wracked with guilt and sadness beyond belief. And as sleep finds him, Oikawa realizes he can’t wish he never lit that first flame, and, in the depths of his heart, wonders how large the vortex could get.

—

Iwaizumi knows something is wrong the moment Oikawa meets his eyes. Oikawa doesn’t doubt that in reality, he knew long before. Wordlessly, Oikawa sits down in the lush moss beside him, dropping his head onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. When he closes his eyes, the greens of the forest fade away, lights dancing on the backs of his eyelids as he listens to the gentle whisper of wind through the leaves. Oikawa breathes deeply, lungs expanding until they feel full enough to burst, and then opens his eyes and tells Iwaizumi everything.

Iwaizumi is a good listener in the same way his sister and mother are. His eye contact, while eerie and unblinking, shows rapt attention. His hand, scaled and clawed, rests on Oikawa’s shoulder, comforting and kind. It’s wisdom— what his mother would call an _old soul_ — something Oikawa should expect from his kind.

“I don’t wanna hurt anyone anymore,” Oikawa tells him, voice clear and quiet. “I wanna do magic that protects people… like a shield and barriers.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips, his brows knitting together. “But you love fire.”

Oikawa hesitates before he speaks again. looking down to his hands. “I can’t— what if something happens? What if I…”

Iwaizumi squeezes his shoulder, drawing Oikawa’s gaze towards him. “I believe in you. Fire or no fire, you’re not gonna hurt anyone.”

Oikawa swallows thickly as a shimmer of grey light forms above their heads. Its drips down and forms a dome around them, darkening their surroundings with a tint of glowing black energy.

“You really think so?” Oikawa whispers, eyes wise and tinted purple. He watches as Iwaizumi nods, breath fanning out in a cloud.

“With my whole heart,” he says. “I know you. You would never do that.”

Oikawa smiles, shoulders dropping as Iwaizumi’s truth sinks in, because it’s _Iwaizumi,_ who would never lie to him, who has knowledge beyond Oikawa’s imagination, whose scales prove the depth of their very friendship. The shield leaves a thin ring of blackened grass and earth as the barrier eats away at it, curling underground to create a perfect sphere. Oikawa can sense it like an extension of his very self, can feel the strongest points like an itch on his side. It’s a pull from deep inside that wants _more,_ that wants to meet the steady chill inside the dome with flame, that wants to crystallize and shatter and petrify a forest into stone. But Oikawa shrugs off his curiosity, leans further into the trust that he could never, _will_ never do something so bold. Iwaizumi believes in him, and that’s all the validation he needs.

—

Protective magic is a funny thing. Oikawa can solidify the air around him so that not even Iwaizumi can break through, can sculpt walls of ice and energy that turn any passing leaves into vapor. He can create tiny loops, ones where illusions meet borders and one step forwards equals no steps at all, or he can make it seem as if he doesn’t exist. There’s an art to masking one's presence, but Iwaizumi is nothing if not observant— he sees through any illusionary trick in a heartbeat and always knows which way is north.

Sometimes, Oikawa still plays with fire. He looks left and right in the dead of night, in the dark corners by the forest stream, and lights that deep black flame. He lets it encircle him like predator to a prey because that’s how he feels calmest, temperature oscillating between a soft scorching burn and a gentle frostbite. There he sits, silent in his broken oath, basking in shame and the elation that comes forth when toying with flames, pyjamas soiled by dark earth and ash. He climbs back through his window before dawn’s first light, rests with his eyes closed and replaying the lights that danced before him.

It’s after one of those nights, as he moves to climb through his window once more, that he notices the trellis that encloses around the shutters is no longer home with the bountiful ivy and flowers. Instead, withered leaves crumble into black piles, meek as they crush under his feet. Even in the dark of night, they are colourless, much like the hydrangeas bush next to it that grew only for every new bloom to wilt in a day. Oikawa reaches out his hand to cup a blossom. The paper thin petals nearly turn to dust at his first touch, but with careful and delicate movements, he brushes both fingertips to the stem and channels his magic through, waiting for the flowers to bloom again. But they don’t; the stem grows brittle like stone, the petals curling up further until the breeze carries away their powdered remains. He yawns, rubs his eyes, and soundlessly tucks himself back into bed, pieces not yet falling into place as his mother’s garden begins to turn grey.

—

Oikawa first notices the letters one morning in the late summer. The sunshine has yet to become blinding, still beaming from behind the houses in the east, casting long shadows and shade for the weather worn messenger at their door. There’s never been need for letters before— everyone who knows the Oikawa's lives within the shelter of their village. Yet, here they are, staring at the letter marked with a wax seal that sits on the kitchen table. Yuuko’s fingers twitch every so often as she eyes the envelope, one hand resting on her right wrist as if to hold herself back from snatching it up and tearing it open.

“Why does Yuuko have a letter?” Oikawa asks, turning to face his mother. Her worry lines have become more pronounced in the past few weeks, but she smiles all the same.

“That boy with the Royal Army sent it to her,” she tells him, sipping her tea.

Oikawa squints at his sister from across the table. “You still talk to him?”

“Yes but— that’s not the army’s crest!” Yuuko protests, pointing at the star-shaped imprint in the white wax. The envelope is a deep navy blue that seems to shimmer as the sunlight hits it.

Oikawa looks between his parents and Yuuko, confused. “Just _open_ it then!” he exclaims, shaking his head.

Yuuko looks expectantly towards their mother. She nods, and not a second later Yuuko snatches the letter, tearing open the envelope to reveal two separate pieces of parchment. One falls onto the counter, and Oikawa reaches across to grab it only for his sister to grab it first as she unfolds the the larger of the two. Her eyes widen and track wildly over the page as a smile splits across her face.

“Well?” their father says, leaning forwards to read the letter. Yuuko pulls it away, clears her throat, and reads through a smile.

“By decree of the Solstice Academy and the district of Fukuroshi of our great nation Seishun, you, Oikawa Yuuko, have been summoned as an apprentice scholar, per recommendation of Nakamura Kasumi of the Royal Army,” she reads, looking up from the page. “They sent a carriage that should arrive in a few days.” She holds the letter up to her face, hiding the smile that spreads up to her ears. “Oh my gods, I can’t believe this is _actually_ happening!”

“That’s so soon,” their mother says, voice a proud whisper as she rests her hand onto her chest. “Akihiro’s mother gave you her recommendation?”

“And they _summoned_ me! To _The_ Solstice Academy!” Yuuko practically squeals. Oikawa sticks out his tongue at the pitch of her voice. “Akihiro said that he and his mom are gonna lend me a room to stay in until everything is settled at the Academy’s dorms. I’m so— I can hardly believe this! I’m going to Fukuroushi to study the stars!”

“You worked hard to get there, Yuuko,” their father says. “I’m proud of you, hun.” Yuuko can hardly hide her excitement, tears of happiness peeking out from the sides of her eyes as she tries to wipe them away.

“How far away is Fukuroushi?” Oikawa asks, tilting his head as his sister wipes away her tears. “Will you be gone long?”

Yuuko’s smile falters, her gaze softening as it reaches him. “It’s up by the mountains, a little ways south of the ocean. I don’t know how long I’ll be away for, but I promise to visit as much as possible, okay?” Oikawa’s demeanor drops as his heart clenches, the thought of his sister being so far away for so long unfathomable to him. For as long as he has been alive, his sister has been there beside him, a steady force and a whirlwind of dreams all at the same time.

Yuuko reaches over and ruffles his hair. Oikawa barely huffs in indignance as he peeks up at her from underneath his bangs. “Don’t look so sad, Tooru,” she says. “I said I’ll visit! I’ll come every few months, how’s that sound?”

Oikawa pouts, looking to the ground. “That’s so long,” he mumbles.

“Tooru,” his mother coos. “Your sister is all grown up now. She’s gotta spread her wings and leave the nest someday.” Oikawa withers even further.

Yuuko shakes her head. “Tell you what, I’ll come visit exactly a month after I leave. That gives me enough time to settle in enough, and you enough time to get even bigger, how’s that sound?” she offers.

Oikawa doesn’t look too certain, but nods anyways. “Okay. But you gotta pinky promise!” he says, holding out his pinky.

Yuuko laughs. “Of course, of course.” She hooks her finger around Oikawa’s, shaking it once with a grin. “You’ve got a few more days before I leave, so we can spend tons of time together.”

The rest of that day is spent packing Yuuko’s things to prepare for the trip. She keeps true to her word the following days, spending as much time as possible with her little brother. Oikawa finds himself becoming thankful for Yuuko’s constant presence in his life. When he fell, she would be there and stick a bandage on his scraped knee. When they fought, even when his stubbornness got the better of him, his sister would always forgive him. The fact that Yuuko was leaving his life, at least for a while, was one he almost couldn’t cope with. But he did his best to smile and have fun, even when the hours dwindled down to zero.

When the day comes for Yuuko to leave, Oikawa sneaks from his room into hers. She’s in the midst of looking through her room for anything she’s missed, though Oikawa can’t think what she left behind besides him. The room is bare, her bed stripped of sheets, window missing curtains, and the open closet void of clothes. She looks back at Oikawa and smiles, sitting on the edge of her bed and patting the space next to her. Wordlessly, Oikawa climbs up beside her, curling into her side.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he murmurs, tugging at her travelling cloak. “Can’t you take me with you?”

Yuuko hums, reaching to pet his hair. “I’ll miss you too, Tooru. I can’t take you with me, but I’ll never be far— even when you can’t see me, I’m right beside you.”

Oikawa huffs. “You need to write me letters. Twice as often as you wrote that boy.”

Yuuko laughs, leaning back so that Oikawa can look at her fond smile. “I’ll tell you about _everything._ You’ll feel like you’re there.”

Oikawa bites his lip, chest squeezing tightly. “I wanna show you something. Before you're gone.”

Yuuko tilts her head, silently nodding as she scoots back. Oh so carefully does Oikawa spark a small black flame, cultivating it in the palms of his heads. His sister’s eyes widen with excitement as she leans forwards, looking from Oikawa to the flame and back again.

“I’m gonna work real hard too,” Oikawa promises. “I’ve been reading your book— the one you gave me— I’m gonna be such a good mage, _everyone_ will know me.”

Yuuko inhales sharply before pulling Oikawa into a tight hug. Oikawa buries his face into her chest, tears already flowing as her hand rubs his back. Later, as she leaves on a carriage with the whole village watching, he’ll manage to only have puffy eyes, but here, he _bawls_ , clinging onto her shirt as if he could hold her down.

But she leaves. And the village of Shitsumei goes cold. Because little did Oikawa know that from the window of Yuuko’s room, the villagers saw.

—

The last day of Oikawa’s life starts with silence. There are no wind, no birds, with the sun clouded over with heavy gray clouds signalling the start of snowfall that season. It’s a strange sight for early fall, even within the West Forest. The day is dreary and darkens with every passing hour, the Oikawa household quiet and bundled up to deal with the oncoming cold. Sometime during the haze of it all, Oikawa falls asleep, quilt curled around his shoulders as a tiny ball of his magical fire burns in a metal bowl at his bedside.

It’s much later when Oikawa awakes with a start, to an empty house and a sky nearing dusk. He pads to an empty kitchen, blanket draped over his shoulders as a cape, and walks back towards his parent’s empty bedroom. Hes met only with the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the main room and a deep chill that blows through window left open. Something twists within Oikawa’s stomach at the sight of his mother’s satin curtains billowing, enough so that he closes the shutters before heading outside to see where they’ve gone.

The frigid air cuts through Oikawa’s blanket the moment he opens the door. Oikawa tugs the blanket closer around him, shuddering as his body becomes accustomed to the sudden temperature drop. He runs down the steps of his front porch, tripping over the last step as he heads down the path to the market. He meets no one on his way, all of the neighbouring houses’ shutters drawn, doors shut and lights out. It’s an odd sight in a town he’s so used to seeing in various states of jovial activity, one that heightens the anxiety stirring from within as his pace quickens.

“Mom?” Oikawa calls out as he approaches the small clearing at the village centre where the travelling merchants set up shop. It’s empty today, devoid of the old ladies offering tea from their porches, devoid of the odd passerby carrying warm bread, devoid of his parents, smiling and waiting for him to catch up. Oikawa spins in a circle, whipping his head from side to side as he searches frantically for any sign of his parents, of _anybody._

“Mama! Papa!” he shouts, voice echoing throughout the empty clearing, carrying deep into the forest itself. Oikawa sneezes, tugging his blanket closer as he extends one hand from its shelter to spark a flame, holding it closer to his face to warm his cheeks and brighten a village beginning to succumb to the shadows of dusk. But it’s no sooner that he does that a cloth is pressed to his mouth and nose, arms wrapped around his arms and legs, and well timed _smack_ to his head hitting him hard enough that the lights go out.

—

Oikawa is greeted by voices when he comes to— rough voices, _loud_ voices, voices that grate too close to his ears. By instinct alone he moves to raise his hands to his ears only to meet resistance. Blearily, he opens his eyes to a room lit orange by dim candle light that illuminates how his hands are bound to a pine table, his ankles and chest roped across. Oikawa thrashes, eyes flitting wildly around a room filled with people— none strangers, all faces he knows. He meets the eyes of the baker who fed him extra strudels and the carpenter who built his bed frame and his father’s best friend, all who stare at him unflinchingly with a grim kind of certain look in their eyes. Oikawa’s breath quickens as more people become aware that he has woken, their chatter turning to murmurs he can’t make out over the blood pounding in his ears.

“W-where are my mom and dad?” Oikawa asks, voice small and cracking as he sniffs. He can feel tears as hot as molten iron burning tracks down his face as he yanks on his bindings, the rope rough as it skins his wrists. “What— _what did you do?”_

A woman steps forwards from the crowd, her wrinkled skin and white hair setting her apart as the village elder if not for the way the crowd shifts around her. She purses her lips in a mix of pity and loathing as she looks down at Oikawa, leaning so heavily onto a cane as she studies his face.

“Show the boy his parents,” she commands, not looking away as the crowd slowly begins to part, creating a clear line of sight towards the corner where his parents sit, bound to two forward facing chairs, mouths tied with cloth and shoulders held back by the hands of other villagers. His father pulls against the ties at his wrists, his mother surges forwards, a muted cry muffled by her gag as the chair tips slightly. Three villagers hold it down, but no one can stop her from finally spitting out the cloth, shaking her head until it falls down around her neck.

“Let him _go!”_ she screams, long hair a mess around her face, eyes wide and cheeks hollowed by the shadows of the room. “He’s just— he’s only a child! Don’t hurt him! He’s done nothing wrong!”

“Haruko, you know as well as I do that the Dark Mage needs to be exterminated before he awakens,” the village elder hisses, turning back to face her. “We have a chance to avoid catastrophe, and you would just deny it?”

“The— the Dark Mage?” Oikawa whimpers. “Wh-who? I-I-I’m not the Dark Mage! I haven’t hurt anyone! I only use magic for good! And— and to protect people!”

 _“Liar!”_ someone shouts from the crowd. “You’ll kill us all when you get the chance!”

Oikawa shakes his head, pleading _no_ as he remembers the dead rabbit, Iwaizumi’s blood, his mother’s terror at the fire swirling in his room.

“You’ve gone mad! What are— what are you _saying? Let my son go! Let him live!”_ his mother shouts, shrill and desperate. She spits onto the face of a man who tries to hold her mouth, pulling at the ropes around her body.

“He lives and we all die!” a man shouts, pounding his fist onto the table. Oikawa flinches, crying as it narrowly missing his arm.

“I saw it— that magic. It’s an abomination. It’s _evil!”_ a woman shouts. “It made their entire garden wilt and the whole village go cold!”

“That wasn’t me! I didn’t do that!” Oikawa cries, tears rolling down his cheeks as his breaths begin to hiccup. “I didn't! I promise I didn’t!”

“Silence! The words of the devil mean nothing here,” the elder snaps. “The sooner the vessel dies does the bastard soul move on. Don’t you get it? We’ll be _saved!”_

“Lay a hand on him and you’ll fix _nothing!_ If you so much as touch him I’ll—”

“You’re at fault for all of this!” the elder cries, pointing her finger towards Oikawa’s mother. “You _knew_ you gave birth to the Dark Mage, and yet you allowed him to live! You gave him life!”

“He’s my _son!”_ his mother all but screeches.

“And this all could’ve been avoided if you weren’t a mage,” the elder hisses. “He would’ve been dead in his sleep had you not slipped a spell over his room.”

“You— you— dead?” Oikawa stammers. Nausea swells in his stomach as his body goes limp, pain surging deep from within. _“What are you—”_

A hand clasps over over Oikawa’s mouth to silence his plea. “Hurry,” the baker says, grip firm over Oikawa’s jaw. Oikawa yells into his hand, struggling and crying as he attempts to break free.

His mother kicks her feet loose, slamming her chair against his father’s. “Get your fucking hands off of him! Don’t you dare—”

“Deal with them first,” the elder says solemnly, nodding towards the man standing behind them. “Before she does something.”

The man behind his father moves first, thick hands wrapping around his neck as cries echo throughout the home. All Oikawa can do is stare forwards, pulling so hard that his wrists bleed as he watches his father’s face turn blue, watches a butchers knife be passed from hand to hand as his mother thrashes, torn between her husband and her son.

“Tooru, baby, you’re gonna be okay!” his mother cries. “Baby, it’s gonna be alright, okay?”

Oikawa sobs, vision blurred by tears as the hand slips from his mouth long enough for words to pass through. _“Mama, please—”_

His mother smiles, tears streaming down her cheeks. Above her, the knife looks golden in the warm candle light as the butcher raises his arm. “Mama’s here, Mama loves—”

The knife slashes down in one swift stoke across her neck, tearing through her vocal chords and throat in a matter of seconds. Blood spews from the open wound as she chokes on words never said, staining her pale skin and white blouse with crimson  that splatters onto the edge of the table. When she coughs, it tears her from the inside, thick clots slipping past her open lips as she struggles to keep her head up. She fights as her ghost leaves her, face already white as her screams, once muffled by cloth, now muffled by layers of tissue and blood, now die out. It’s two excruciating minutes of watching the strongest person he knows lose everything as he struggles to call out to her, begging and pleading _please don’t die, mama, please don’t die,_  ending when her chest slows to nothing, when her eyes go glassy and head slumps back, further exposing the wound. His father is a slumped corpse next to her torn body, dead before he could even hear her last words.

And Oikawa _screams_ at the lifeless forms of his parents, and the dam shatters.

Every part of him burns the coldest fire, black and surging from his body in an explosion he can hardly control. He screams and the floor turns to black ice, and the people around him burn the same way he does inside, their screams hollow echoes of the pain flowing through him, forced out through his arms. Oikawa’s bindings fall away as he thrashes once more, standing on the table as a deep violet aura wraps itself around him, poking and prodding at his mind and body as he’s taken over. Black flame consumes the eyes of the elder, and Oikawa reaches out his hand to control how it burns her from the inside, how it crawls from her stomach to her lungs and smokes out her last breaths. He orchestrates the chaos with wild gestures and the flame follows, tearing away the roof and collapsing the walls as bodies turn into ash.

The fire spreads through the village, through Oikawa’s chest, and chills every bone in his body.

—

Iwaizumi smells the smoke before he sees it, billowing black and grey in the moonlight. He hears screams that echo through the forest and flies through the trees, bramble caught in a perpetual state of stillness not normal for the woods. In all his years, Iwaizumi has never seen something as eerie as a silent night, has never known smoke to be something good. It’s when he reaches the edge of the town, bare feet touching cool, smooth stone, that he realizes just how dark the night has gotten.

What hasn’t burned in black fire smolders still, creating the billowing clouds of smoke that join the clouds in the sky. Iwaizumi staggers back in shock at the pure carnage and smell— burning flesh and wood mixed together in a foul odor that has his nose scrunching and hand slapping over it in an attempt to shut out the smell. Something even more foul permeates his scales, seeping into his very bones as he takes shaky steps forwards through the war zone, past the tiny houses decimated to stone rubble. It’s a kind of sensation he only understands as _magical,_  as _dark,_  as _strange,_  as _Oikawa._

For a second, the moon shines through, illuminating the gentle flakes of snow drifting from the sky, and Iwaizumi’s stomach drops as he sees him.

Oikawa has his head tipped back at the sky, shoulders shaking and chest heaving. An aura surrounds him, one Iwaizumi hasn’t seen before, one Iwaizumi shudders at— at the pure feeling of _darkness_ that wraps around his friend. Iwaizumi looks at the setting and scenery, the charred remains of villagers, and rubble, and can only think that Oikawa would be sobbing, but instead—

He’s _laughing._

It’s hysterical, nonsensical laughter that leaves his mouth set in a wide, broken smile. Iwaizumi can see the tears that still trickle down Oikawa’s cheeks, his voice still hitched and scratchy from what Iwaizumi could only guess was from the myriad screaming he heard before. He can see the way Oikawa’s hands tremble, soaked in something deep and rich that drips down his wrists and onto the ground, how his chest heaves in unsteady breaths as his laughter turns into near screams, shrill and piercing through the night air. And his _eyes,_ bottomless and black, consume all of the purity in his gaze. In it all, Iwaizumi sees pain like no other, sees a fanatical twitch that is moment away from turning into sheer calamity.

The gentle snowfall beings to stick to the ground and rubble, even though they should’ve been burning hot from the flames. Iwaizumi takes a step forward, but his foot lands on a branch, a large _snap_ echoing through the devastated town. Oikawa whips towards Iwaizumi, grin still wide on his face, tears still falling, and freezes. As his eyes set on Iwaizumi, they fade back to the soft brown Iwaizumi knew belonged to his best friend.

“Tooru?” Iwaizumi says, hesitant and soft, as if he were trying to calm a bear. Oikawa’s mouth falls open in shock, eyes darting around before looking at his hands. Iwaizumi takes another step forward, which jolts Oikawa out of his shocked trance.

The last day Iwaizumi sees Oikawa alive, he’s running from the village he burned to the ground.

———

Hinata’s breath leaves him in one fell swoop as Iwaizumi finishes his story. He’s sure that if he were standing, his knees would give out, leaving him to collapse to the floor. Even now, he leans further against the wall, hands gripping the fabric of his pants with white knuckles. It’s too much to process fully, too much grief and tragedy to begin discerning as he imagines Oikawa, stoic and _terrifying_ Oikawa, bathed in the rapture of his own village. He looks up to Iwaizumi, to the hard set of his jaw, to the shimmer of his scales, and blinks back the tears falling on his cheeks.

“You asked me before, how long I’ve been in the Royal Order. He’s why I joined,” Iwaizumi says. “Though I didn’t think of it at first— not until he had killed the former army. It was the only way I could think of finding information on him— finding _him.”_

Hinata shakes his head. “But— Hajime, why?”

Iwaizumi bites his lip. “When I was staying at Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s inn during my travels, they told me a lot about the previous Dark Mages. Oikawa… he’s different from the others. While the others were out wreaking havoc across the whole country, Oikawa keeps himself hidden away somewhere. Even when he has destroyed something, it’s been limited in its casualties. No one has seen him since he was ten— _two years_ after he awoke as the Dark Mage,” he explains. “There has to be something else there, with the reincarnations of the twin mages. The Oikawa I know— he’s still in there somewhere. And I know that even more now that you’ve been meeting again and again and he’s done nothing to hurt you.”

“He— he saved my _life,”_ Hinata murmurs, barely audible. He can still feel the touch of Oikawa’s hand on his chin, the softness in his eyes, the pain he carried in every gaze. He can still feel the weight of his cloak on his shoulders and the ache, heavy and pulling his chest towards him, towards a destiny not as clear as it once seemed. "Daishou told me he wants me to kill him," he whispers, breaths shaky. Tears well up in his eyes, a hiccup ripping his chest open and pouring out everything inside. "I don't want to kill him. I want to save him— _us—_  from this curse." He desperately wipes the tears away from his eyes, determination burning through his chest at the thought of Oikawa alone and suffering with every passing breath. “I refuse to kill him. Even if— even if it only kills me.” He looks up at Iwaizumi. “I’ll find a way. I’ll think of something, of a way to save him. I promise on my life.”

Iwaizumi meets his eyes, golden and green shimmering gently. “I believe you, Shouyou,” he says, soft as the hand he puts on Hinata’s shoulder. “We’ll save him together.”

And Hinata believes, deep in his chest, that Iwaizumi is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: animal death, graphic death via slit throat description, minor death via choking description
> 
> thank you guys so much as always for reading! we'd love to hear your guys' thoughts, whether in the comments or to us directly on twitter! who knows when the next chapt will be going up, but it definitely will be going up at some point in time!


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